


Redemption, Modernized

by Ijustneededanewname



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Biker AU, Modern AU, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, red dead redemption - Freeform, red dead redemption 2 - Freeform, tuberculosis can suck my ass, why the fuck does guarma exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-09-24 15:31:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 123,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17103227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ijustneededanewname/pseuds/Ijustneededanewname
Summary: After a robbery goes wrong in Las Vegas, Arthur Morgan and the Van Der Linde gang are forced to flee. With police officer and detectives from every state massing on their heels, the gang must rob, steal, and fight their way across the underground life of the United States in order to survive. As deepening internal divisions threaten to tear the gang apart, Arthur must make a choice between his own ideals and loyalty to the gang who raised him.This is a modern time rewrite set as a biker gang in Arizona trying to get enough money, but not everything goes well.





	1. Chapter 1

Loud knocking on the door of the trailer rouses him from the first restful sleep he's had in days, blue-green eyes angrily pulling open before narrowing at the ceiling above him. The knock comes again and he pushes himself to sit up, swinging his legs from the bed and pressing the soles of his feet against the cold, fake tile floor. The man stands and cracks his neck, grabbing for the door and opening it an inch to peer outside. 

A bright light shines inside and he blinks away, hearing Dutch's wheezing chuckle sound from behind it. 

''What are you doin', boy?'' Dutch asks, pushing the light inside the trailer further. 

'' 'm tryin' to sleep...'' he slurs, Dutch snorting and flicking the light off. 

''I meant opening your door. I didn't give you any sign that it was me, son. What if I was the cops?''

''I would know if it was the cops.'' Arthur shivers as the cold air blows through the door and over his bare shoulders, reminding him how far from the warmth of Arizona they really were. ''I should be the one askin' what the hell you're doin'!''

''Come on outside, son. We've got some work to do.''

Arthur sighs and Dutch shuts the trailer door, allowing the younger man to pull his shirt back on and push his feet back into his black, dirtied boots. He wipes his eyes in a tired rush and grabs the leather jacket with large sewn print on the back, pulling it on over his shoulders and zipping it up halfway before stepping out from the trailer. 

His boot lands in the dirt as he steps out, grinding on the gravel as he follows the light of the flashlight Dutch woke him with. He approaches him, standing with Javier who's warming his hands and still waking himself. 

''Listen, boys.'' Dutch pushes the flashlight into his jacket pocket, placing his hands on either of their shoulders. ''We've been running for days,''

''We know, Dutch.'' Arthur responds, hugging himself in the cold he most definitely wasn't built for. ''We ain't got to be reminded. We only just stopped movin'.''

''I know, and it's been a hard ride for all of us, Arthur. Hard on all of us. I've sent Micah out to see what he can find, scouting ahead so I can be sure this time.'' Dutch drops his hands as Charles approaches them with bags in his hands. 

''It was Micah's plan that got us into this...'' Arthur mutters. Javier gives a look of sympathy as Dutch faces the other man. 

''Mr.Smith!'' he announces. 

''Dutch,'' Charles hands the bags over. ''We managed to get these before the cops showed up-'' the oldest man peers inside. ''Guns, even if they're small, they're something.''

''Thank you, Mr.Smith. Now get inside, rest that hand! We'll need your help further on.''

Charles nods in agreement and nods to the two men standing beside Dutch before Javier is excused, happily following Charles into the warmth of the trailer they had to share together. Arthur follows Dutch as the older man begins heading down a path in the thicket, handing a handgun to the younger man. 

''Where we goin', Dutch?'' he asks, a box of ammunition following the gun. 

''You mean altogether, or right now?''

''I mean right now.'' he answers, loading the magazine and pushing it back in before hiding it on his belt and covering it with his jacket. 

''To find Micah, see if he's spotted anything, somewhere warm we can stay, maybe. Getting those trailers was good, but I've got to guess that whoever owned them before are gonna want 'em back.''

They find a light in the trees beyond them, it belonging to Micah. 

''Anythin' good?'' Dutch asks him. 

''Little home with a couple of chickens,'' Micah answers. ''Booming with light 'n noise. A real party.'' his eyes roam to Arthur who simply stares in return. Dutch ignores the atmosphere growing to nod, telling the blond man to lead the way. 

They follow Micah further down the pathway, some communication on what went down in Las Vegas, but not lots. Arthur ignores Dutch's gratefulness towards Micah's survival, mind wandering to wondering where the hell John disappeared to in the midst of crossing from Idaho into Montana. 

''You seen John at all, Micah?'' Arthur asks. 

''No, not yet.''

''He'll be fine.'' Dutch promises. ''Things always turn out right for him.''

Arthur only hums. 

The home that they approach is surrounded by sheets of snow, the chimney allowing smoke to escape and loud laughter sounding from inside. The chicken coupe is silent, even when Micah thumps on the side of it to check if any animals were inside. 

Dutch directs the two as to where to hide as he gathers himself and hatches a plan, approaching the front door. 

''I dunno how approachable a place this off the grid is gon' be with a stranger.'' Micah states, hidden behind the back of the 90s white Saturn that didn't look like it had been driven anywhere since the turn of the century. 

''Jus' trust Dutch.'' Arthur tells him. ''It'll be fine.''

''You say that, but-''

''I ain't blamin' him for Las Vegas, Bell.''

''Alright, cowpoke. Put the blame on me, huh?''

''You're the one who planned it. Or threw us into it.''

''Dutch agreed to it.''

''You got 'im all worked up!''

He hears a noise and both men look up to Dutch, who's motioning for them to quiet down in front of the porch of the home. Micah moves to behind the pick-up, a blue tarp covering the bed while Dutch clears his throat and knocks on the door. 

Arthur pulls himself further behind the chicken coupe, watching and listening as the laughter inside stops and the men inside shush each other. The door opens and a man fills the light in the doorway, asking where Dutch came from and why he was there. 

''I broke down-'' he explains, pointing vaguely to where the road was. ''-back there and I needed some help. I know it's late but-''

''Arthur!'' Micah whispers loudly, the other man hearing the tarp crinkle. ''Arthur there's a body!''

He turns his head, eyes flicking to the other man. Micah lifts an arm up to show a bloodied hand, pale and limp. His attention is captured by the light in the top level window of the home being taken up by another form shifting, the door on the side of the home opening to reveal a warmly dressed man sneaking around the side with a shotgun in his hands. 

''We got worse issues, Micah-'' he responds, reaching for the gun in his belt. 

''-you should get outta here.'' the man in the doorway speaks, taking a step out onto the porch. ''Right. Now.''

''You don't even have jumper cables?'' Dutch asks. 

''I said-'' he reaches for his belt and Arthur makes a quick decision, Micah following his lead. He fires and the man drops, the other with the shotgun turning to fire before a bullet lodges into him too, the body dropping. Micah shoots the man from the window and the body slumps forward, sliding from the sill and dropping into the snow next to Dutch. 

Arthur stands, pistol still gripped firmly as Micah joins him in approaching the older man. 

''I had that!'' Dutch complains. 

''D'ya want me to let 'em shoot you?'' Arthur asks angrily, the other man shaking his head and stepping over the body on the porch. 

''No... No. Thank you, Arthur, Micah. Let's see what we can find in here and take it back to the others. God knows they need somethin' to eat.''

Arthur follows the other two inside, turning the place upside down for food, water, any guns the owners had been hiding and ammo too. He grabs matches and a packet of cigarettes, offering the pack to either of the men. Micah takes them and pushes them into his pocket. 

''Arthur, go on to that barn outside, see if there's any others, will you?'' Dutch requests. 

He lugs through the snow towards the barn, unused and old. Pushing the doors open, he finds nothing- just some remnants of hay and an old anvil. Other than that, it was used for storing their Christmas decorations that they didn't have the chance to put up.

A step from behind captures his attention and he turns, blocking a punch and smashing his fist into his attacker's jaw, watching the man's head whip to the side before he looks up, eyes fuming and trying to attack Arthur in return. He blocks the punch again and brings his knuckles into the other man's stomach, the other doubling over. He takes that chance to kick him, forcing the other on the ground. 

The biker presses his heel into the other's chest, pushing his weight on that one foot as Dutch arrives at the door, shining his bright light over both of them. 

''Who is he?'' Dutch asks. 

''I dunno-'' Arthur looks back down at the man struggling against the booted foot against his chest. ''Who are ya?''

The other spits up at him, saliva landing no further than Arthur's chest. He reaches down and grips the other by the collar, again smashing his fist into the other's jaw. 

''He asked you a question, son.'' Dutch tells the man on the ground. ''You'd best answer.''

Arthur shakes him, holding a threatening fist beside his head. 

''Who are you?'' he grounds out. 

''O'Driscoll!'' he responds. 

''Ahh,'' the younger man looks to Dutch, who lowers his light some, directing it at the O'Driscoll's face. ''You're up here too, huh?''

''We're everywhere!'' the man states. 

''I bet you are...'' Dutch murmurs. ''What were you doin' here then?''

''It ain't important!''

''He's no help, Dutch.'' Arthur states, dragging him up and patting him down for weapons. He pulls a switchblade off of him and a pair of knuckle dusters. 

''He's no help to us, he's no help to Colm.'' they meet eyes for a second and Dutch nods. ''I gotta go check on Micah. Do what you want with 'im. I doubt anyone will really miss 'im.''

Arthur grips the man by the collar and throws him against the barn wall, holding the switchblade up to his throat. 

''Are you gon' be a problem for us?'' he asks the other man. The O'Driscoll shakes his head quickly, staring up at the older man. ''Do I got to put a blade in ya to make sure you ain't gon' cause any issues for us?''

The O'Driscoll shakes his head again and Arthur drops him, stepping back and kicking him in the spine. 

''Then fuckin' get outta here!'' 

He watches him scramble before picking his pistol up from the floor, pushing it back into his belt. He was only lucky that the O'Driscoll didn't notice it, even at arms length away. Approaching the small home again, he hears screaming and shouting, an urge inside forcing him to run through the snow back towards the home where he slams the door open and finds Micah chasing a girl around her dining room table. 

''Micah!'' Dutch is shouting. 

''Look at this pretty young thing!'' She grabs a knife and turns to Micah, threatening to stab him with it. ''An O'Driscoll?''

''No she ain't, look at her!'' Dutch grabs for Micah as he throws the table to the side, a lit candle lighting the floor on fire and causing the entirety of the table to grow into flames too. ''Miss-Miss-''

Arthur is the one to shove Micah back, stepping in front of him and carefully hovering behind Dutch to make sure neither he or the woman stepped into the flames, or that she didn't sink her knife into his throat. 

''It's gonna be okay, I promise,'' he reaches forward. ''We ain't those men that came into your house, ma'am. Miss-'' Dutch pushes her wrist down gently, Arthur still hovering as the flames grow closer to them. ''It's goin' to be okay, come with us.''

He cradles her, bringing her away from the flames as it begins to cover more of her home, licking up the wall towards her upper floor. Arthur watches Dutch grab a blanket and lead the woman out, talking softly to her as he follows them, Micah nursing his hand in the cold and turning away from her. 

''They came days ago- saying somethin' about debts...'' she says. 

Arthur walks with them back, glancing over his shoulder once only to watch the home fully erupt in flames. 

-

''The O'Driscolls are here too, and we're far from home.'' 

He hears Hosea talking gently from the end of the trailer where he had been bunking, wrapped generously in blankets by the younger members of the group who were becoming aware of how the cold treated the pains he was experiencing more often now. 

''I know, Hosea.'' Dutch murmurs in response. 

''We can't stay in Montana, either. Our clubhouse is back in Arizona and we're almost three days ride from it, too.''

''I know that too.''

''Are we going to wait here, in the snow and the cold for the cops to brush it off or something?''

''No, not at all.''

''Or are you planning hitting the O'Driscolls here?''

''He shot-''

''I know who he shot, Dutch. I'm well aware of how this feud started. Colm was in a lone state and he hurt her, far from his home.''

''This is where we can hit him, on his own land, in his home state-''

''We're in enough trouble as it is right now. We've been in Montana for less than a day and you've already killed three more of his men, Dutch. We can't afford anymore reason for the cops to follow us.''

''What do you propose we do then,  _Hosea?_ ''

''I propose that next time, you listen to us, and don't take robbin' plans from one of the  _prospects_.'' Arthur turns his head away to hide his grin at the sound of Hosea showing genuine malice for once. He hears Dutch shift in his seat. 

''You're doubtin' what he can do-''

''Micah's a fuckin' idiot, Dutch!'' it silences the other almost immediately. ''Six months is not enough for trust in this gang, you put that rule in. You're lucky you've got Javier and Arthur here, or we'd all be dead!"'

''I'm...'' He hears a strained breath leave Dutch before he continues, quieter. ''I'm sorry, Hosea.''

''You should be. Open your eyes, Linde. We can't afford to do this anymore.''

''Instead of hitting Colm, what do you say we do?''

'' _Go home_.''

''But we always go back home.''

''It keeps us alive.''

''Colm doesn't have the proper force to-''

''Colm is nothing, Dutch. Right now, what you need to worry about is getting your gang back under control.''

Arthur can  _feel_  Dutch straining against his urge to go after Colm from his side of the trailer. 

'' _Alright_. We'll go back home.''


	2. Stitches and Dealings

It was bold of them, riding back into their home town and base of operations in the midst of sunshine after a rainstorm with their bikes roaring. Their bikes and glasses glint, helmets reflecting the sunshine as they roar down the main road, capturing all attention and eyes, interrupting conversations and making sure everyone knew who was home.

The Van Der Linde's. 

They follow Dutch, the formation taking the long, announcing road back to their clubhouse where they're greeted with open arms. Arthur pushes the kickstand down and slides off, lifting his leg off the back as Bill helps Charles and Javier with bags of cash, Grimshaw and Abigail instantly worrying over the state of John as Arthur helps him off the back of his bike. 

He and Javier found him getting the shit kicked out of him in some back end bar, glass embedded in his face a few ribs cracked, lucky to even be alive but he kept threatening the guys who attacked him, even after Arthur beat their faces in and left them in the puddles behind the bar. 

Arthur stands in the middle of the formation of bikes as everyone hugs, greets, and happily helps one another get settled back in, Mary-Beth coming to his side. 

''Hey, Arthur.'' she says gently. 

''Hi, Mary-Beth.'' he removes his sunglasses, slipping them into his shirt. ''How've things been back here?''

''Fine,'' she responds, sliding her arm through his as they stroll back towards the clubhouse where most of everyone else were already gathered in. ''We heard what happened in Las Vegas... We didn't think you'd be back so early.''

''Well, we got all the way up to damn Montana.'' he explains, allowing her to step through the doorway before him, following her inside only to see Dutch embrace Molly and lift her off of her feet. 

''Montana?''

''Dutch didn't want to risk any cops.''

''Ain't that where Colm O'Driscoll is from?'' she whispers. 

Arthur nods, sticking his chin out. 

''That he is.''

She hums from beside him, leading him towards the kitchen area where Pearson was already preparing a large meal to welcome them all back. John was laid down in one of their booths, still hugging his arm to his chest and breathing raggedly, his ribs in pain. Hosea took it upon himself to distract Jack with a book, covering the image of the young boy's father suffering with his body. 

''He needs to go to the hospital, Dutch.'' Abigail says. ''His ribs are broken and he's hurtin'.''

''I don't need no hospital, Abigail.'' John argues. Dutch quiets him, his hand being taken up by Molly who massages it with both of hers, her fingers running over his rings before wrapping over his palm. 

''Do what you need to.'' he tells her. 

''Dutch-'' John begins. 

''Be quiet. Save your breath and listen to your woman. She knows better than you.''

John huffs painfully, and Arthur helps to get him to stand again, pulling the leather jacket from his shoulders. John winces and hisses, Javier pulling his gun from him and removing his boots too, Abigail replacing them with John's old pair of tennis shoes he rarely wore. 

''They ain't gon' recognize me from the boots.'' John says. 

''They gon' recognize your face quick if we ain't careful.'' Arthur says, folding John's coat so the Van Der Linde symbol can be see, the red, white and black thread brushed off and laid on the surface of the table. 

''I wear that with pride.'' Marston is pulled to stand, sucking in a breath. 

''I do too. But you ain't gonna be wearin' it much longer if the nurses decide to call the cops on us.''

''I'll take him to the hospital.'' Javier says. ''You need rest, Arthur.''

''I'll be just fine. Take Charles, though. He needs to have his hand checked.''

''My hand is fine.'' Charles states from behind him, surprising Arthur as he comes around his shoulder. ''It's nothing.''

''We all saw ya strugglin' with the handlebars today, Charles.'' Morgan responds. ''At least rest it.''

''I'm just glad to be out of the cold now.'' Arthur turns from John as Javier leads him from the clubhouse, walking towards Hosea to help him with Jack if need be while Abigail follows the two men towards the truck parked outside. ''It gave me a damn hard time with this hand.''

''That's why we like it here-'' he walks with Charles, pulling the zipper of his coat down. ''-Fall lasts a two months, Winter seems to last one, Spring don't even really exist here, and for the rest of the time we got to deal with Summer.''

''Summer here is as bad as the snow in Montana.''

''Then let's be happy we ain't in Montana anymore then, huh?''

Charles smiles before Hosea stands, convincing Jack to join Tilly in helping Pearson in the kitchen with lunch, turning to the two younger men. 

''Did John manage to get any punches on the other guys?'' he asks. ''He's beat to shreds.''

Arthur shrugs. 

''I ain't too sure. It sure seems like he never fuckin' listened to me.''

Hosea waves it off. 

''He's lucky, that boy. Things always turn out well.''

''Because we're usually the one's goin' after him.''

The older man laughs gently, nodding. 

''Usually.'' a bike starts outside, the three of them raising their eyes to the window looking outside to see Bill sitting on Dutch's, The Count. 

''Shit-'' Arthur quickly jogs outside, waving Bill off the bike. ''-the hell you doin'?''

''Dutch told me to take a look at his bike!'' the other shouts over the sound of the engine.

''Take a look, don't fuckin' ride it into the garage yourself.'' He pulls Bill off and removes the key from the engine. ''How'd you even get this anyway?''

''Dutch left it on the table in his office after he told me.''

''That weren't an invitation, Williamson.''

Bill scowls as Hosea comes to his shoulder, taking the keys from Arthur. 

''You're fine, Bill,'' the older man promises, patting the bearded man on the back. ''You thought you were doing the right thing. Just... Go on back inside and we'll get our bikes to you, alright? Just wait in the garage.''

He keeps his eyes trained on the ground before moving away, hands curled into angry fists. 

''Sometimes, I wonder 'bout him...'' Arthur mutters. 

Hosea pushes the keys into his pocket. 

''He thought he was doing well, Arthur. Don't bully him about it.''

''I ain't, Hosea.''

''You scared him.''

''This bike's a mean son of a bitch, you told me how it was watching Dutch tryin' to learn to ride it.''

''An absolute mess, if I had to summarize it all.''

Arthur smiles, Hosea poking him in the arm before pointing to the garage. 

''We promised him. Let's get our bikes into the garage so he can check them.''

''Can we trust him not to break 'em?''

Hosea breathes out a laugh, swinging his leg over his bike and starting it up as Arthur reaches his own and follows the same pattern. 

-

John comes back with fresh stitches in his face and bandages around his ribs a week later, still pissy about not being invited on any jobs and having Abigail on him constantly. 

''I want to do  _something_ ,'' he complains. 

''Christ, John, quit fuckin' whining.'' Arthur responds, counting the cash that they managed to get out of Las Vegas. 

''You ain't the one stuck watchin'!''

''What are you gon' be able to do?'' he drops the stack of cash after finishing counting it, writing the same number that Hosea had gotten down during the first count. Two hundred twelve dollars. ''You're fuckin' blind on one side, your ribs stop ya from bein' able to  _breathe_  properly-''

''I didn't mean a job, Arthur.''

''Then what did you mean?''

''I mean helpin' round here!'' he announces. Pearson exits the kitchen with his list in his hand, shrugging his coat on. ''Pearson, let me help!''

''I'm not letting you anywhere near my food.''

Arthur snorts.

''And, Arthur-'' he raises his head to the other. ''-that girl you brought back? She's a goddamn demon.''

''She's mourning her husband, Pearson.''

''She's a threat.''

''We'll figure that out if it comes to it.''

Pearson huffs, pushing his list into his pocket and storming from both of them, getting in his car outside. John leans across the table, Arthur noticing him wincing as he pulls stitches in the side of his face. 

''What're we doin' with her, the woman?'' John asks, attempting to pop his fingers. 

''I dunno.'' Arthur answers, raising his eyes to the hallway where Dutch's office sat. ''We dragged her all the way from Montana back to here, between California and Arizona. But she didn't exactly fight it.''

''Abigail thinks she's got to be her therapist.''

''Abigail wants to help.''

''Did she see her husband get killed?''

''I ain't sure. It seemed like she heard and saw enough.''

The door to Dutch's office opens and Dutch walks out, Hosea strolling after him with his eyes on the walls, barely taking in Arthur. The raven-haired man claps his hands together as he spots Arthur, turning to the exit. 

''Good to see you, John.'' he says. 

''Dutch.'' John responds. 

''Arthur, I need you with me.''

''Of course.''

He stands, handing the slip of bills back to Hosea. 

''Same amount.'' he tells the older man. Grey hair waves as Hosea nods, taking Arthur's seat in front of the table as the dirty blond follows Dutch outside to their bikes. 

''How much did we get?'' Dutch asks. 

''I thought Hosea told you.''

''He did, but you recounted, right?''

''We still only got two hundred and twelve dollars, Dutch.'' he responds, unfolding his sunglasses and pushing them onto his nose as Dutch sighs, swinging his leg over the bike. 

''Damn it...''

Arthur pulls his keys from his pocket, followed by his gloves. 

''You agreed to Micah's plan.''

''I know, I know.'' Dutch kicks the bike on and stares onwards to the concrete wall keeping their clubhouse and the businesses beside them separate. Arthur pulls his gloves on, tightening them and pushing his keys into the ignition, starting his bike as well. 

He follows the older man from the compound, finding themselves at the bar at the end of town where Bill, Charles, and Javier's bikes were parked. 

''I don't think this is the time for a drink, Dutch.'' Arthur says over the low roar of their bikes. 

''We ain't here to drink.'' the other responds. ''Javier found an O'Driscoll group camped out, you're goin' to help him.''

''And what are you gon' do?''

''I've been told that I've got to make up for the botched Sin City job.''

Arthur begins to grin. 

''Did Hosea say that himself?''

''It ain't important right now.''

The younger of the two chuckles as Dutch shakes his head, riding away. 

''Listen to 'im this time, Dutch!'' he shouts. 

Dutch makes sure that Arthur sees him flipping him the bird when he rides back the opposite direction, the dirty blond pulling his bike up to Charles' and parking it. He carries his helmet under his arm, removing his gloves as he steps into the bar, stepping aside for a drunkard to stumble his way out of the southern-themed bar. 

He spots Charles and Javier charming girls at one side, Bill struggling to read something closest to the bathrooms. Javier notices Arthur first and waves, Arthur nodding to him before passing them to help Bill. 

''You need glasses.'' he states, setting his helmet on the surface of the table next to Bill's beer. Bill scowls further. ''It's from all that poutin'.''

''Shut up.'' Bill hisses. ''I don't need glasses.''

Arthur sits down, sighing. 

''What we doin'?'' he asks. 

''If Romeo and Dionysus would fuckin' come back, I would tell ya.''

''I didn't know you knew any stories a higher level than kindergarten.''

''I'll fuckin' kill you, Morgan.''

He leans over the table, pressing his palm against the surface. 

''I'd like to see you fuckin' try, Williamson.''

Bill's eyes stare over the top of his paper as Arthur catches the other two's attention, bringing them back to the table. They leave the girls apologetically, Javier almost sulking as he reaches the table. 

''Thanks, Arthur,'' Javier states, crossing his arms over his chest as Charles downs his shot and set sit on the table. ''I had somethin' going there.''

''We ain't here to flirt and get frisky.''

'' _Frisky_.'' Bill repeats. 

''What? You ain't never heard that word before?'' Arthur asks him. Bill glares back as Charles calms them, Javier laughing. 

''Arthur's right-'' Charles begins. ''-we need to focus, especially with Colm this close to us.''

''How close is this close?'' Arthur asks. 

''Seven miles away, doin' business around the school with the young, impressionable kids.'' Javier explains. 

''Drugs?''

Escuella nods. 

''Hard ones.''

''From what we hear, its a lot more of the kids stealin' their parents prescriptions and selling them to Colm's group.'' Bill says, lowering his paper. ''Colm cheats them, obviously, but he gets them to run the drugs back and forth.''

''Do we know how we're gonna handle this or do we have to go there ourselves and see?'' Arthur asks. 

''Go and see.'' Charles answers. 

Arthur leads their small formation towards the schooling district, deciding to take an old neighborhood road to look over the school below them instead of showing their faces directly in front of the high school. 

They sit and watch, Bill on look-out as the other three survey the school below. Arthur feels a smack on his back, Javier pointing down towards the football field as two kids, not much older than juniors meandered behind the bleachers closest to the road, kept back by the tall chain link fence. 

Five O'Driscolls wander down the road, two staying back to be on lookout, two stopping beside the kids, and one walking just enough further down to be lookout on the other side. They do something beside the bleachers, exchanging something but Arthur pays more attention to the dark green 70s Plymouth slowly growling down the road towards them. He doesn't recognize the driver, but he knows Colm O'Driscoll anywhere. 


	3. A Breakout

The man sits in the passenger seat with a bag in one hand, his other reaching in and pulling something out. He almost grabs for his gun but Colm only pulls a few fries out, biting into them and chewing as he watches the deal in front of him.

He watches the first two lookouts begin arguing before one gets shoved from the other, the passenger door on the Plymouth opening and capturing the attention of every O'Driscoll on the street. The shorter one who was shoved meekly approaches the side of the Plymouth, carefully standing in front of the open door.

Arthur stares, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose before the O'Driscoll is grabbed and pulled forth, face smacking into the top of the doorway until Colm shoves him back, the man stumbling into the chain-link fence.

''Seems like he said something wrong.'' Javier says.

The oldest of them begins to shift, watching the deal continue as the Plymouth door shuts and Colm is driven away, the teens pausing to watch it leave before they're handed cash. The O'Driscoll who had been scolded quickly moves away from the group back towards his own bike from which he quickly drives away.

Arthur stands with the others after the deal finishes and the O'Driscolls scatter, Charles having already left to follow the Plymouth to wherever it would lead. Bill, Javier, and Arthur take the road back to their own clubhouse, Arthur patting Bill's shoulder to grab his attention before he points to the motorbike in front of them.

Bill grins and slowly growls up to the man's left side, Javier to his right and Arthur parks himself directly behind the O'Driscoll. The man glances to Bill and turns his head to look at Javier, looking all the way around to see Arthur behind him, gripping the handlebars of his cheap and old bike.

He looks straight ahead, Javier relaxing back on the seat of his bike as Bill revs his engine, glancing to Arthur who shakes his head. The O'Driscoll revs forward and speeds away the second the light turns green, Arthur going after the chase. The sound of his engine pushing itself to keep going drowns out all other noise except for the wind across his ears. The O'Driscoll skids to a stop and turns, balancing the bike out with his feet and pushing himself onwards down a neighborhood road, Arthur skidding and stopping the back end going out with his boot before pushing on after the O'Driscoll.

Arthur loses him after he maneuvers his bike around a reversing truck, disappearing on the other side of the road. He turns back around the road and follows it to a curve that he hopes will lead him back to where he'd last seen the man. He rides slowly, riding through two intersections before hearing the bike somewhere beyond him. Arthur turns right and follows the road around the bend, coming around the turn to see the O'Driscoll nervously looking over his shoulder.

He revs his engine and the man whips his head around, Arthur riding forward quickly. The O'Driscoll isn't given enough time to turn around, and tries jumping off of his bike instead, Arthur grabbing his collar as he rides past, ripping him from the bike's seat. 

-

He brings the man to an abandoned mall on the outskirts of town where Dutch meets him, dragging the man inside with Lenny protecting the door. 

''Hey,'' Lenny says, Arthur nodding to him. 

''Good to see you, Summers.'' he tells him. Lenny's face brightens. 

''You too.''

Arthur follows Dutch inside, stepping over broken pieces of glass and wall fixtures, over the signs thrown in the center and the filth strewn across the tile. He hears a thud, assuming it was Dutch dropping the O'Driscoll before he begins his questioning. 

Many things this kid denies, but he gives his last name. 

''You really think I'm gonna call you anything but O'Driscoll, O'Driscoll?'' the senior of the group asks. The man lets out a scared breath, looking up as Arthur overshadows Dutch who's crouched on the ground with the other man. ''You wear their colors,'' he says, lightly hitting the top of the O'Driscoll's helmet that has a green stripe painted on the side. ''You must be one.''

''I ain't nothin' to them!'' he says. ''Nothin' at all.''

''I suppose we'll find that out, then.'' Dutch says, standing and looking to Arthur. 

''What do we do with 'im?'' the younger asks. 

''Have Javier tie him up somewhere. He knows every spot of this place, inside and out. He'll know where to put him. Meet me outside when you're done.''

Arthur fetches Javier from where the Krispy Kreme used to be, passing the order on before heading outside to their motorbikes. Dutch leans back against his bike, lighting a cigarette and offering one over to the younger man. Arthur takes one, leaning over as the other man lights it and leans back, Dutch slowly breathing smoke from his mouth.

''I don't like Colm bein' this close to us, Arthur.'' he says, smoke wrapping every word. ''I should have hit him when we were in Montana.''

''It was better that you listened to Hosea, or else we'd be wanted in Montana for more murders than we can count.''

''We've already killed three of his men being up there, and now we have another tied up in our hometown.''

"Colm ain't smart enough to attack us here, Dutch. This is ours.''

''Colm probably think's I ain't smart enough to attack him on his own land, either, Arthur.''

''If we got killed up there-''

''I know, if we did this, if we did that.'' Arthur quiets and sucks in the taste of the nicotine and tar. ''Let's focus on what we  _can_  do, hm?'' Dutch stands and takes one last, long breath of his cigarette before he drops it on the ground and stomps it out. 

Arthur pulls the cigarette from his lips as the older man swings his leg over his bike. 

''What we  _can_  do?'' he asks, putting his cigarette out as well. 

''I've heard that we might have something else to hit, to make up for what happened in Las Vegas.''

''You mean Jenny and Davey gettin' shot and killed? Sean and Mac gettin' caught by the police?''

''Yes, Arthur.''

Dutch kicks his bike to start, Arthur pulling his gloves on and starting his own bike. 

-

They arrive back to the clubhouse and Dutch begins talking about plans found on the O'Driscoll's bike, plans belonging to Colm that now belonged to the Van Der Linde gang. Arthur listens to him continue blubbering until the sight of a memorable blue jacket captures his attention, Trelawny strolling up to them. 

''Jo-si-ah!'' Dutch sings and clasps his hand on the other's shoulder, smiling. ''Where the hell have you been?''

''San Francisco.'' Josiah answers, Dutch shaking him back and forth in his happiness to see him. ''The Ritz-Carlton, wonderful place, I recommend going.''

''We can barely afford a night there.'' Arthur says. 

''What are you doin' here, then?'' Dutch asks, ignoring Arthur's statement. 

''I heard a group of lowdown criminals stole some cash from a money truck in Las Vegas and were forced to run and assumed it was a good time to give you my help.'' he says, plastering a smile across his face. Dutch wags his finger at him. 

''It was a good hit!''

''If it was so good, why is Sean in jail?''

''Macguire's alive?'' Arthur asks, surprised. 

''Oh yes, dear boy. Alive and well, being shipped from the great City of Lights to a place called Bakersfield. Or at least transported somewhere near there. I've heard he's been giving both the officers holding him and the inmates he's with equal hell for how they've been treating him.''

''It must be Sean...'' Arthur mutters. 

Bikes roar inside the compound, Javier, Lenny, and Bill back from the abandoned mall. 

''Escuella!'' Dutch shouts, capturing the attention of Javier. ''Go with Trelawny! Arthur, you too.''

''What about Colm?'' Arthur asks as Dutch begins heading towards the clubhouse. The older man turns and looks at him.

''I'll figure that out, son.'' he rubs his hands together, grinning. ''But it's a great plan!''

-

He and Javier both want to shoot Josiah personally after listening to hours of him speaking, bunking in a hotel outside of Los Angeles in Ontario, California. Arthur smokes and blows it out of the window for Javier's sake, Josiah asleep long before either of them. 

Charles joins them in the morning after Arthur has woken, tired and sleepily standing on the hotel balcony with his paper cup of coffee that Josiah brought for him as he sipped a fine cup of tea and moved around the back of him. Charles walks closer to the balcony, staring up at Arthur. 

''Where's Escuella?'' he asks. 

Arthur motions to the door behind him and Charles climbs the stairs to their room, handing Arthur his cut of their last job that Dutch had handed off to him before he rode into California to help.

''Javier?'' Smith asks, stepping into the doorway. Arthur downs the rest of his coffee and follows Charles inside, dropping himself back on his bed as Josiah reads a magazine in the chair beside the window. 

Javier steps from the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel. 

''Hey, man.'' Charles nods as the other man throws his towel over his shoulder and picks his shirt up, rubbing the wrinkles out. 

''Where are we going?''

''We've got to go out into Los Angeles and follow the freeway up to Bakersfield. There's supposed to be a jail somewhere on the way there that Sean's going to go to, and I don't doubt that trying to get him out is going to be an issue.''

''Do they know he's affiliated with us?'' Charles asks as Javier drops his towel on the bed and pulls his shirt on over his head. He hands the other man something to tie his hair back with, Javier thanking him. 

''I'm not too sure...''

''They do.'' Trelawny promises, flipping a page in his magazine. ''At the very least they know he's a gang member.''

''And now Dutch is the most wanted person in all of California and Nevada?'' Charles asks, looking to Arthur as he waits for the coffee to kick in. 

''Probably.'' Arthur answers. 

''Shit...'' 

Javier ties his hair back and shrugs a button up shirt on, a neutral black and white plaid before grabbing Trelawny's keys, motioning Charles on. 

''Let's go.'' he says. 

Arthur wishes them luck before standing, crossing the room into the bathroom to shower, only to find that Javier used up all of the hot water. He and Trelawny wait, bored, in the hotel room for the other two to get back. Arthur flips through television channels as the other man reads the hotel's entire collection of magazines, taking a nap in the middle of the day. 

The biker goes and gets them dinner, bringing back grease in the form of food that Trelawny picks at and begrudgingly eats at the sound of his stomach. Arthur hears a knock on the door in the middle of their meal, the man wiping his hand across his pants and grabbing his gun, cocking it and checking the peephole. 

Javier stands in front, raising his fist to knock again as Charles reaches his side. Arthur opens the door and lets them both in, pushing his gun into his belt. Javier grabs the fries that Trelawny won't touch and drops himself on his bed, Charles seating himself at the foot of Arthur's. 

''Anything?'' Josiah asks. 

''There's a small space that we have any chance of getting Sean.'' Javier explains, popping a fry in his mouth as Arthur hands Charles the burger he bought the other man. ''But we'll have... Minutes. I'm guessing these busses have trackers.''

''I imagine so.'' Josiah says, setting his own food aside and wiping his hands down with a napkin. 

''But the bus won't be followed.'' Charles says, opening his burger container. ''There's enough trackers, radios, and positioning units strapped to that thing that they won't need to worry about if a cruiser is with them or not.''

''Not to mention how many guns those things have on them.'' Javier says around his food. 

Arthur is nodding along, sitting back. 

''So stoppin' it will only capture more attention?'' Arthur asks. 

''If that thing's stopped for a few seconds longer than usual, every cop in the county will come after us immediately.'' Javier answers. 

''Maybe we don't have to stop it, then.'' Arthur states. 

The others look to him, Javier letting out a laugh. 

-

Sean MacGuire was scheduled to be on the final bus of the day on its way through backwater valley towns, bumbling against a rough and untouched California road. He's in the jail's uniform, color coded in orange as a mildly dangerous suspect. He ignored the ones in blue, small-time offenders, and didn't look at those at the back with extra shackles dressed in red. 

He stares out the window at the absolute nothingness that was the rolling California fields, looking to the sky as the sun was blocked by clouds. His eyes spot a bike parked on the other side of the road next to the highway direction sign, blue-green eyes peering at him for a split-second but the bus passes the man too fast. 

The redhead straightens his spine and looks over his shoulder, meeting angry eyes of the inmate behind him who he smiles at. The other twitches his nose at him and Sean turns away to keep his eyes focused on the ground, hearing something other adding to the sound of the bus's engine humming. 

A growling. Deep, low, almost animalistic. 

It sounded like an old, well-kept bike. 

Sean stares at the back of the seat in front of him, hearing it grow louder. He feels his heart begin to race and his forehead begin to sweat as the growling hums just a bit more louder, just enough to give him hope. Sean raises his eyes as something large comes into view, the growling of the bike backing off suddenly and a large semi pressing its brakes, the prisoners beginning to yell. 

Suddenly, he's thrown around in the bus, glass breaking and men yelling, Sean pulling into himself as much as he can as he feels the vehicle, and his stomach, roll harshly. It slides to a stop and the young man feels his head spinning, ankles fastened to the floor for bad behavior having left him dangling in the bus. The irishman feels blood rushing to his head, the semi driver getting out and running towards the bus in worry, hands pressed to his head. 

''Sean?'' he hears. He turns as best he can towards the back emergency door, spotting blue-green eyes searching the bus as the body grows closer. 

''Oi! Arthur!'' he waves his arms and the larger man climbs in through the broken window, past the unconscious guard strapped in at the back seat before he kicks the back gate open. His boots crunch over broken glass, Arthur reaching up to break the chains. 

He hits the ground, the wind being torn from his lungs as Arthur grips him by the arm and hoists him to stand. 

''Was the truck your plan, eh?'' he asks, still dizzy as Arthur helps him climb out of the back exit. 

''Nah, but he helped.'' he's squeezed through the back exit, slumping onto the grass. He sees figures running to he and Arthur before he blacks out. 


	4. Shooutout

''Lenny, bring the boy some water please.''

Lenny rushes past Arthur at the sound of Hosea's voice, slipping into the kitchen. Arthur strolls down the hall towards the spare room where they had laid Sean out and set him on the couch with blankets and pillows. He peeks his head in, finding the older man standing on exhausted legs as Sean blinks at the room, squinting and pulling the blanket higher to his chin.

''Hey,'' Hosea speaks softly, placing his hand on the younger man's chest as he leans over. ''How are you feeling?''

''Mm...'' Sean hums, blinking heavily. ''Like I need a bloody drink.''

Hosea rolls his eyes and stands straight, glancing to Arthur before Lenny squeezes past him in the doorway and hands a tall glass of iced water to the oldest man. Hosea passes it on to Sean, who sits up slowly with his hair sticking up in separate directions, fuzzy and messy.

''That was...'' Hoses pushes the glass higher for Sean to drink, the redhead taking a sip and smiling after the glass leaves his mouth. ''Brilliant!''

Arthur sighs but smiles, leaning against the doorway as Lenny steps back.

''A truck! Fuckin' better than anything you could 'ave planned!'' he says. ''Thank you, Arthur Morgan!''

He shakes his head, hearing steps coming down the corridor.

''It was Charles and Javier, really.'' he tells him. ''And Josiah.''

''Aye, but you were included! You're the one that came in the bus tae get me!''

Dutch appears at Arthur's side, smiling at Sean.

''Are you doing well, son?''

''Aye, damn well.'' he sits up further, Hosea flicking concerned eyes to him. ''You got any beer?''

''We'll throw a party when everyone gets back. Celebrating a brother in arms!'' Dutch smiles broadly, Arthur stepping from the doorway and following the corridor down to the main lobby area of the clubhouse where John was leaning against the pool table, attempting a game with Charles.

Charles raises his eyes first, setting his stick aside.

''Sean's awake, I'm guessing.'' he says.

Arthur nods.

''He is. You can see him unless Hosea says otherwise.''

Charles nods in return and breaks away from the pool table as Arthur peers outside the window to see if Javier and Karen had gotten back with the O'Driscoll in the back of the gang's pick-up. He pushes the door on the far side open, following the short concrete hall into the garage where Bill is shouting loudly and Uncle is attempting to make a cover for it.

''I did not!'' one of them shouts.

''Shut the fuck up!'' Bill answers.

Arthur breathes in heavily, turning the corner around the car jack to see Uncle stepping back as Bill threatens him by lifting his wrench.

''I'll knock your teeth in!''

''But-but I'm an old man!''

Arthur steps between them, pushing them back with his fingertips.

''Both of you shut up, please.'' he says. Bill directs the wrench to Arthur, who stares unblinkingly and with disinterest.

''Neither of you should be in my garage.''

Arthur grabs the wrench and pries it from Bill's grip, tossing it across the concrete floor and hearing it clatter in the background before turning back to face the other man.

''Sean's awake.'' he tells him. Bill's shoulders relax as he nods, giving one last angry look to Uncle before he turns away and walks to the door Arthur entered through.

The dirty blond faces Uncle as the other mocks him, quickly blanking his face the moment he notices the man staring.

''You ain't allowed in the garage.'' Arthur says.

''I was helpin'!''

''You ain't been helpful since you fell in that pile of horse shit back in Nevada.''

''That was fifteen years ago!''

Arthur taps his head as he walks away.

''I got a better memory than you, you old shit.''

Uncle scoffs behind him and gives some half-assed excuse for his laziness in the gang, Arthur sincerely wondering why Dutch kept him around for so long.

''Herr Morgan.'' he hears as he steps out into the sun, raising his eyes to find the smaller man walking from the compound gate.

''Strauss.'' he returns, watching as their treasurer shifted his briefcase over to the other hand, trying to shove a folder under his arm to shake Arthur's hand. The biker takes the folder carefully and shakes his hand.

''I am sorry for not coming back earlier,'' Strauss says, Arthur handing the folder back to walk the man to the doorway of the clubhouse. ''You understand though, don't you?''

Arthur nods, hooking his thumb around his belt loop.

''I understand, Herr Strauss. None of ya knew if we were comin' back or not. With or without cops on our ass.''

Strauss nods, pushing his thin gray hair against his head.

''I heard it did not go very well, either... In Las Vegas.'' Strauss raises his eyes to Arthur, who shakes his head.

''Not really, no... But we did get Sean back.''

''I suppose that makes up for it, then.'' they stop at the front entrance, Strauss peering inside. ''Dutch... He knows I was not running, right?''

''He knows, Leopold.'' Arthur smacks his hand on the smaller man's back and he jumps at it, catching himself. ''We're just... Gatherin' the gang back.''

Strauss raises his hand.

''Sehr gut,'' he pats Arthur's shoulder in response, stepping into the open doorway of the clubhouse. ''I feel good knowing that Dutch will not be angry.''

''Nah...'' the other man spots the truck coming into the gang compound and takes a step back. ''All ya got to worry about now is Miss Grimshaw!''

He sees Strauss visibly pale and he smiles, walking to the garage where the truck was pulling into. Uncle is seated in an office chair in the corner, watching as Javier and Karen step out. Javier comes around the back of the truck, towards the garage doors where Arthur ducks under and helps him pull the garage doors closed.

''Well ain't you bein' helpful?'' Karen asks, leaning against the back of the truck as she speaks to Uncle.

''I am!''

Arthur pulls the door of the bed of the truck down and hops up with Javier, pulling the tarp back and staring down at the O'Driscoll. He stares up in fear, blinking at the light fastened to the ceiling and wincing.

''What Dutch say we doin' with him?'' Arthur asks.

Javier shrugs his shoulders.

''He just said bring him back.''

Karen peers inside the back of the truck, the O'Driscoll trying to talk around the gag in his mouth. Arthur reaches down and removes it, dropping it on the side of the truck as the other splutters and tries to talk.

''Colm-Colm-''

''Colm ain't here, boy.'' Arthur tells him.

''He's gonna be!''

Arthur sets his boot on the O'Driscoll's hand, slowly applying weight.

''Where is he?''

''I ain't sayin'!''

''Ah, but you were shouting that you didn't care about him when we were dragging you to the truck.'' Javier says.

The O'Driscoll shuts his mouth and Arthur hears the door clang, Bill crossing the cement floor.

''Get your clamp, Bill.'' Dutch enters the garage, giving orders. Bill fetches them as Dutch steps on the tire and hoists himself up, peering down at the other man. ''Where's Colm?'' he asks.

''Nah, he won't talk.'' Arthur shrugs, moving to stand beside the O'Driscoll's head as Javier helps Bill to hop in the bed of the truck.

''He's taken a vow of silence all of a sudden.'' Javier says, wiping engine grease from his palm onto Bill's already dirty shirt.

''Is that true?'' he gets nothing and looks to the others, nodding. They grab his belt and pull his pants down, the man writhing as Bill warms the clamp with a blowtorch, doing it just above the man's face. Scared eyes move over each of them, the man continuing to writhe.

Bill hands the blowtorch over to Arthur, who sets it off again for good measure and places it on the roof of the truck, Bill holding the clamps close to the O'Driscoll's lower half.

''Do you want to lose your bits, son, or do you want to answer me?'' Dutch asks. The man shuts his eyes and Bills brings the clamp closer, the O'Driscoll evidently feeling the heat near his skin as he begins blabbering.

''Ripley! He's hiding in Ripley!''

''Ripley? Where in Ripley?''

They're given a vague location and time that they can find Colm. Dutch smiles up at Arthur before looking back down at the O'Driscoll, waving Bill back.

''Thank you, really. You've been very helpful.''

Dutch drops from the side of the truck and Arthur climbs out after him at the sound of his name.

''Take John, and-and Bill, too. Drag the O'Driscoll with you, he's the only one who would really know where to go- but make sure he don't make too much noise! We don't need more gun smoke followin' us.''

''John? He even healed yet?''

''He's got stitches,'' Dutch shoulders the door leading inside of the clubhouse open. ''But he's got a lot of fire in 'im now that he's been holed up for so long.''

''It ain't been that long.''

''It has been for John. He's a fighter, and a good, solid shot.''

''Alright...'' Arthur stops in the center of the clubhouse, watching Pearson push Sean out of the kitchen, the Irishman clutching a bag of beef jerky to his chest.

-

They ride to Ripley, the O'Driscoll on the back of John's bike as they roar down the freeway. They pull onto the surface streets and the O'Driscoll directs them on where to go, spewing something to John that Arthur can't quite hear but it's enough for John to smack him when they slow down again.

He takes them to where he promises is a quiet spot to leave their bikes. Bill walks with his pistol in hand, following the other man with Arthur and John directly behind him. He leads them to a junkyard compound with a small, metal shack in the center where he promises Colm is holed up.

''How many should we be expectin'?'' Arthur asks.

''A bunch of 'em. Armed, drunk... Angry.'' the O'Driscoll answers.

''And Colm?'' The O'Driscoll points to the metal shack.

''Just there. He don't do lots more than hide in there and get drunk, givin' orders.''

Arthur hums lowly, watching three men approach their spot and turn, talking about Colm's bad management of both his men and his temper. John grabs their man and shuts him up by pressing the barrel of his gun into the side of his head, tattooed arms keeping him pressed against his chest.

The O'Driscoll tries crying out, but the men are talking too loud to ever have a chance of hearing him.

Bill leans closer, speaking.

''What're we gonna do about 'em?''

Arthur points to the one unzipping his pants.

''We'll get the one by the tree, and then pick 'em off silently for as long as we can.'' Bill nods, slipping down the small slope towards the man relieving himself as the two others chat further from him.

He watches as Bill pulls his knife from where it was hiding in his boot and brings it across the man's throat, catching his body and laying it down carefully as to not make any noise. Arthur follows, the two of them moving silent through the trees while John made sure their O'Driscoll friend stayed quiet.

Arthur slips his own knife out and comes around the back of a rusty old car, stopping Bill with his hand and signaling which one for him to take down. Bill nods, both of them lifting their arms and throwing their knives.

The men drop with the blades in the back of their necks, John joining them at the bodies as they remove their knives and continue.

''Our guide is gon' be quiet, I left him up on that ledge.'' John says. Arthur nods, looking up and finding another man sitting on an old axel with a bottle in his hand.

''He better be...''

''What we doin' about him?'' John asks. Arthur motions him on and the younger man sneaks, grabbing the O'Driscoll on the axel by his throat and dragging him backwards, plunging his blade into him and leaving him to bleed out.

Arthur and Bill join him, peering around the site and checking for the remaining O'Driscoll's. He sees one messing with a girl, the others getting drunk around a cooler. He moves and hides behind the remnant of an old truck when one of them looks up, approaching the movement he'd spotted. John and Bill move forward quickly, reaching for their guns instead of their knives if anything was to go wrong.

The man walks past Arthur, stopping a foot from him and looking for the O'Driscoll he'd already killed. He turns and his eyes widen, the man opening his mouth to knife in the back of his head silences him, his body falling forward and into Arthur's arms.

He hears shouts and the woman screams, Arthur turning and using the body as a shield as they begin firing, the biker dropping the body as he gets to the other side of the wall. He wipes sprayed blood from his face, red dots spotting his sunglasses as he pulls his gun from his belt and cocks it, raising it to fire as John disappears around one side of the building and Bill joins him on the opposite side of the firm wall.

They shoot their way through the men, John helping cover them from the other side before another group of them arrives and shoots, hitting the ground next to their feet. Bill handles them and John joins while Arthur runs to the entrance of the shack, hearing the gunfire die down. He pushes the door open and is slammed back, hitting the dirt while a man with a rifle stands over him.

A shot cuts his laughter off and he drops to the side, choking as Arthur drops his arms at his sides.

''Are-are you okay?'' he hears the O'Driscoll stutter.

''Sure... Thank you...''

He hears him run away, Arthur standing quickly with an angry grunt as he raises his pistol to the shack. There's no one inside, and any trace of someone having been bunking in there was the bottle of Natural Light still dripping onto the floor.

''You motherfucker...'' Arthur turns from the shack and storms out, the O'Driscoll raising his head as Arthur raises his gun. ''You fuckin' set us up!''

''I didn't!'' Bill and John approach from behind the other man.

''Colm ain't here! You set us up to get fuckin' shot!''

''I didn't I swear, I swear, I sw- I-I-I if I was gonna set you up, why'd I save your life, huh!?'' he stands a bit straighter but still shies from the gun raised to his face.

Bill chuckles as he strolls around him.

''He has a point, Arthur.''

Arthur lowers the gun and sighs, pushing it into his belt once more.

''Alright...'' he points to the road behind him. ''Go on then.''

''What?''

''I said go on!'' he shouts, grabbing him and throwing him towards the road. The O'Driscoll slips and falls on the dirt, scrambling to stand. ''I won't shoot ya.''

''That's as good as killin' me!'' he shouts, pointing to the road. ''Out there... Colm after me... He ain't gon' be happy about this.'' he gestures to the shack and the bodies on the ground. ''He'll come after me.''

''So what?''

''So... I'm one of you now.'' he jabs his finger towards the three of them as Arthur scratches the scar on his chin. ''I can't go back to Colm. God knows what he'd do to me if he ever caught me.''

Arthur drops his shoulders, shaking his head.

''Fine then... Come on, let's get back.'' he motions them back the way they came, the O'Driscoll stopping them.

''You got his money?''

''Money?''

The other nods.

''He always hides it behind a painting. One of them, at least. Just on the back.''

Arthur looks up at them and motions them on.

''I'll get it. Y'all get lost for right now.''

They drag the O'Driscoll back with them as Arthur steps inside of the shack again and pulls the pictures down, collecting cash from them and stuffing them into his pocket. He cleans himself of blood as best he can before walking away, back to his bike.

 


	5. Partying and Talking

Arthur uses the clubhouse shower when he gets back, the celebration of Sean's survival in full swing when he steps from the room, dried and clean. He watches Javier lug an unconscious, or mostly unconscious, Reverend inside and drops him on the floor when they step inside. 

The Reverend raises tired, bloodshot eyes, trying to understand where he was as the loud music blasted and the younger members of the gang began to celebrate. 

''Can you fuckin' believe I had to go out for him again?'' Javier asks, noticing Arthur's gaze. The older man runs his fingers through his drying hair. 

''I ain't surprised.'' he responds. ''The only time I see 'im properly is when I've got to save his ass.''

''He was at the train tracks this time, the idiot bet his goddamn crucifix this time.''

Arthur shakes his head. 

''He'll regret it in the morning-'' they both watch as he slides down the wall and curls into a ball on the floor. ''-if he ain't already. Thanks for gettin' him, though. It means I didn't have to.''

Javier grins, punching Arthur in the bicep before looking around the clubhouse. 

''Where's the alcohol, brother?'' he asks. 

''I imagine Sean's got it all. He's already given his speech.''

Escuella leaves Arthur, the older man deciding to join the celebration for himself. He sees Karen and Sean disappear from the party mid-way through the party, watches Miss Grimshaw try and teach small Jack to dance, and watches Lenny and Charles copy Jack's own way of dancing, both laughing loudly. 

John and Abigail don't argue, they dance and he kisses her cheek softly, leading her as best as he can with legs that manage to stumble over themselves most days, his arms wrapped gently around her waist as the music grows slower and the night starts to draw to an end. 

Tilly dances with Javier, who is more than happy to lead her, taking her in large steps around the rest of the gang members, Tilly laughing gently as Javier grins, both teasing Arthur for standing by himself at the outskirts. 

Arthur listens to the same slow record that Dutch has had for years as he watches his friends and family dance. He watches Hosea and Susan dance softly together, both talking seriously in the corner, furthest from Molly and Dutch's spot on the floor. Grimshaw shakes her head but the dirt-blond's attention is captured by a voice asking to dance with him. 

He takes Mary-Beth's hand and sets his hand on her waist, the two swaying instead of dancing to the rhythm of the song. 

''I've been watchin' you all night, Mr.Morgan.'' she says. 

''Well ain't that romantic.''

She breathes out a laugh as Arthur steps back and twirls her, pulling her back to his chest. 

''Not like that.''

''Then like what?''

''You just seemed so... Sad by yourself.'' she says, both swaying together. 

''Did I?'' She nods. ''I suppose I should work on that.''

''Don't hide yourself from us, Arthur,'' she says. ''We're all supposed to be family, aren't we?''

He gives a nod. 

''I ain't hidin'. And I ain't sad.''

''You're hiding it well right now.'' she tells him, the younger girl attempting to twirl him instead. Arthur laughs and ducks under her arm, keeping himself balanced before they hold each other again. ''You don't look so sad and angry when you get to have fun.''

''I have plenty fun.'' he says, raising her eyes over the girl's head to watch Abigail wrap her arms further around John, resting her cheek against his shoulder, covered by his leather vest. ''I just... Got a lotta responsibility here.''

''I know.'' she twirls again. ''But you never seem to take a break.''

''Hey, don't worry 'bout me.'' he tells her, placing his hand on her back again. ''I'm doin' just fine.''

She steps back, running her hand over his palm and smiling at him before she curtsies. Arthur bows. 

''Thank you for the dance, Mr.Morgan.'' she stands straight and he smiles in return. ''You were better than I thought.''

''And thank you, Ms.Gaskill.''

He steps back and glances to Molly and Dutch who continue to sway together, simply enjoying each other's company. Dutch has strewn his jacket over the closest chair, as if leaving his position as president behind for a moment, Molly running her hand over his shoulders towards his face, fingers touching gently against black stubble before Arthur decides to find Hosea. 

He and Grimshaw both are gone, but Grimshaw is sitting with a sleeping Jack in her lap in the privacy of her office. Arthur waves quietly as he passes, Grimshaw giving him a loving smile before he disappears behind the doorway and follows the hallway into the garage. He finds Hosea outside, lighting a bowl with his long legs stretched out in front of him. 

Hosea doesn't do well hiding how much pain he was in lately; wincing, hissing, taking the anger of his pain out on the younger members like Sean when they did wrong, barking orders if he was having especially bad flare-ups. He rarely got a moment to stop just like Dutch, just like Arthur. Being vice-president of a gang that relied so heavily on you, being relied on so heavily by the  _leader_  of said gang, it took a lot out of him. 

''You mind if I join?'' Arthur says. 

The older man raises his eyes and hums, Arthur sitting on the crate across from him as he struggles to get his lighter to catch, huffing angrily. The younger man reaches into his jacket's breast pocket and pulls his matches out, trying to light one against the heel of his boot but he breaks the stick instead. 

''Hand me one.'' Hosea tells him. Arthur hands the pack over and Hosea swiftly takes one from the sleeve, lighting it against the heel of his boot and raising the flame to his face to show glowing, smug eyes. 

Arthur shakes his head, smiling as he takes the packet back and tries with a fresh one, doing it first try. 

''It's in the wrist.'' Hosea tells him. 

He lights his own cigarette across from the older man, leaning back and staring up at the sky with him. The stars shined brightly, even through the smog, the moon at its fullest state and glowing just for them. 

''John and Abigail, they seem to be enjoying themselves for once.'' Hosea says.

''It's a blessing when they do.''

''Relationships are hard, Arthur. You can't always expect it to go well.''

''I know that all too well, Hosea.''

The older man quiets as the end of his bowl glows, a smoke cloud leaving his lungs. Arthur looks to him as he shuts his eyes and sighs heavily, head lowering. 

''You're hurtin' bad, ain't ya?'' Arthur asks. Hosea only nods. 

''The cold in Montana didn't help. Charles and I both complained of it by ourselves.''

''Is that why you felt so strongly about comin' back home? So you could get back to the warmer nights?'' he lifts the cigarette to his mouth, inhaling as Hosea shakes his head. 

''No-well yes-but we needed to come home anyways. It was better that Dutch didn't attack Colm, but it doesn't help that we're attacking his men here. The law enforcement already knows that we're the cause of it.''

Arthur breathes the smoke out, watching it dissipate in front of his face. 

''But we always pay 'em off. We've  _always_  paid 'em off.''

''How much longer can we pay the local enforcement to keep quiet as our number of killings grows, hm? It's been... Twenty years almost? Of just us running our own little criminal empire here in Arizona, runnin' back and forth between here and California, pushing drugs through from Mexico... Eventually, someone's going to come looking and we're going to be the first place they search.''

''You think so?''

''I know so, Arthur. We've only been growing since we first took you in, our first true gang member. And what were you, fifteen?''

''Come on, I was older than that-'' he chuckles but Hosea is serious. ''You're... You're worryin'...''

''I am.'' Hosea admits. 

''Ain't that supposed to calm your nerves?'' Arthur motions to the bowl pipe in the older man's grip. ''It ain't workin' too well.''

''It's workin' pretty well on my physical pain, I can tell you that.''

''Yeah, you ain't movin' much.'' he says and laughs. Hosea smiles and raises his pipe back to his mouth. ''If the cold bothers you so much, why you out here?''

Hosea blows the smoke out slowly. 

''Susan. And Abigail. They don't want me smoking anywhere near Jack.''

''Don't Abigail and John-''

''Smoke at home? Yes. But it isn't anywhere near him.''

''Can't you smoke in Dutch's office?''

''Molly doesn't like the  _smell_ , apparently.''

''I thought she weren't allowed in there anyways?''

Hosea shrugs.

''I can't care, not right now.''

''Then I guess it really is workin'.''

-

''D'ya hear Dutch talkin'?'' Micah is back in the clubhouse, practically slobbering over the table as he talks to Arthur who's nursing a cup of coffee to raise his energy. 

''Dutch's always talkin'.'' he responds. 

''Nah, about the thing we got goin'.''

''You mean hitting Colm's job before Colm does?''

The other nods, smiling and showing yellowed teeth

''Exactly.'' Arthur doesn't give a response, he only lifts the cup of coffee back to his mouth, sipping it. ''Why ain't you excited?''

''I ain't too sure.''

''What about?''

''Why you're still here.'' he responds flatly, lowering the cup from his mouth as Micah's brows furrow, but his smile widens, just rubbing his stubbornness in Arthur's face. 

''Everyone-'' he hears Dutch announce. He's followed from his office by Hosea who stares past Dutch's shoulder towards Arthur. ''everyone, please,'' he stops, gesturing towards their meeting room. 

Arthur slides out from the booth seat, standing beside the table as Micah and others head into the meeting room to Dutch's order, the gang's seal glowing on each of their clothing. Whether it be on their breast or their back, they all wear the red white and black colors with pride. Arthur follows behind the rest of the group, but in front of the senior members, taking his seat at the side of the table. Hosea shuts the doors as Dutch moves around the room towards the large, leather desk chair at the head of the table, having his vice-president sit so he himself could move towards the board behind them. 

He raises his hands and silences the quick chatter in a matter of moments, allowing his arms to drop before he begins. 

''I have lots to speak on-'' he begins. ''-lots that I could drone on about, bore you with, and completely disinterest you in. The job in Los Vegas, we all saw how that went, and I am sincerely sorry for what had happened. I'm also sorry for not having said anything sooner, but each of you know that I would gladly put myself in the ground in place of those that have been killed by men who run only on  _fear_  of what we are, of our power.'' he points to his chest, black eyes turning over each person at the table and surrounding it. ''We got away with some cash-not a lot- but some. It's enough to do a few repairs, get provisions and keep this gang goin' for a while longer, but we need more.''

Dutch points to the door. 

''That O'Driscoll out there, the boy, Duffy? Is it? He didn't mean nothin' to Colm. This is nothin' but a small inconvenience to Colm. But for us, what we got is a man willin' to follow and our enemy's plan of attack. A cash truck, goin' through a dangerous part of town at a dangerous part of night. There'd only be a small gap, but I think that we can hit it!''

The rest shift uncomfortably around the table, sitting back, looking to one another, most of all avoiding Dutch's gaze as his dark eyes flick over them.

''Oh come on...'' Dutch's hands begin to lower. 

''That last job took a lot out of us, Dutch.'' Tilly says. There's a murmur of agreement around them. ''I don't think that any of us are particularly... Excited about the idea of being on cop radar again, is all.''

''And I completely understand your worries, Miss Jackson.'' Dutch answers. ''But it's a good cash opportunity.''

Micah is quick to nod, and Sean seems interested to get back to work, but he doesn't show the same amount of excitement as he would usually. 

''Wouldn't our best bet be laying low?'' Charles asks from the back of the room. ''It hasn't even been much more than a month since the job in Las Vegas, and the cop's heads are still spinning.''

''Spinning is good.'' Dutch says. 

''It might be, but I really don't think we should jump back out and start robbing people again, least of all Colm...'' Hosea speaks from the head of the table, Dutch's eyes dropping to him. Most of the rest nod, agreeing with the oldest man at the table. 

Dutch's shoulders rise as he breathes in, Arthur seeing his eyes light before he drops his shoulders again, thinking. He wants people to take this job on, most of all he wants to do the job but it's a rocky business to be jumping back out so soon. 

''Didn't John and Arthur go and kill more of Colm's men recently anyways?'' Javier asks from across the table. ''It'll just anger him more.''

''Colm uses his men like trash and throws them away just the same-'' Dutch answers. ''-it wasn't a hit, we were practically helping him by killin' some of his men!''

''We're not that far from Las Vegas, either.'' Arthur hears a voice. ''You seem to think we're a lot further than we really are. They're _just_ over that border, Dutch.''

Dutch raises his hands, quieting the murmuring. 

''Alright...'' he says. ''Alright. We won't hit Colm's job just yet, but I want to be able to do it before he ever gets the chance.''

''And we will.'' Hosea states. The rest nod to Hosea again, the older man keeping his eyes trained on the table with his arms crossed against his chest. 

''What do you say we do as of now, then?'' Dutch asks the group. 

''We go back to selling bikes, parts-'' Javier proposes. ''-almost everyone here knows something about cars, motorbikes, trucks. We can get some good deals, especially when the car shows roll around. We always have something to show for.''

''No robbing?'' Bill asks. 

''A small amount.'' Hosea states. ''We want to be under the radar while we're back home.''

''We still have cartels paying a lot to have us run their drugs, too.'' John says. Arthur finishes his cup of coffee, setting it on the surface of the table. Dutch nods, raising his head properly to look at his gang. 

 


	6. Work and Play

Their agreement on ''laying low'' lasts for less than two weeks before Dutch decides that they must hit Colm's job, and now.

Arthur is pulled from his duties as road captain, watching Javier, their sergeant at arms get pulled away from reprimanding Micah only for both of them to be given a speech in the meeting room along with Hosea, John, Charles, Bill, Sean, and Lenny.

''What happened to being quiet and calm? Doing the jobs we know we can finish and keeping everyone safe, Dutch?'' Hosea asks.

''This job...'' Dutch clenches his hands. ''It's now or never, Hosea.''

Dutch is too far into daydreaming of angering Colm to listen to anyone but himself. They're given the decision to either ride out with him or stay behind and continue what they were doing. They follow him from the compound, both parts wanting to make sure he wasn't shot and both parts wanting something more of the adrenaline they experienced doing big jobs like this.

''What're we supposed to find in this thing?'' Arthur asks when they've come to a stop.

''Cars, Arthur. Expensive, fancy cars.''

''Flashy expensive cars?''

''Stop your worryin'. I know already where we're goin' to hide them, and where we're going to sell them off to. All we need to do now is get them.''

''And the plan?''

Dutch points to Bill and John who are pushing their old broken down car onto the middle of the road, angled so it looks like they'd lost control.

''We're...'' Arthur begins.

''The driver will see the car, he'll stop, or he'll be forced to stop, and then we'll jump him.''

Arthur leans back in his seat, hands resting on the engine cover of his bike. They see the lights of the semi approaching sometime into the early morning, the driver flashing them on and off, Bill and John trying to wave him down.

The semi blows past them, barreling down the road. Arthur drops his cigarette on the pavement and turns his bike.

''That was supposed to work.'' Dutch says.

He shakes his head, kicking the bike on and riding down the road after the large white trailer. Both Javier and Lenny join him, riding at his back. He, Lenny, and Javier both hop onto the back of the truck, Javier losing his grip and dropping onto the pavement, rolling to a stop. Arthur checks behind and sees Escuella smacking his hand into the asphalt in rage, his bike riding past him before sliding to a stop.

Lenny is already working on the door's latch as Arthur clings to the back, helping the younger man. Lenny smiles before the door, and himself, begin to slowly swing away, Lenny gripping onto it desperately. Arthur scoots closer and grabs Lenny's arm, pulling him off of the door and shoving him inside the trailer.

The younger man hits the hood of the covered car inside, Arthur following him in and sighing in relief against the wall of the truck as Lenny stands and peers under the fabric covering the car before whistling. He pulls the cover off, revealing a car Arthur would have trouble forgetting.

''Look at her.'' Lenny says, tossing the cover aside and jogging towards the back of the trailer, throwing the cover off of that one too. Arthur begins to unfasten the belts tying the dark red Aston down as Lenny shouts appreciatively about the Ferrari he was unfastening.

Arthur grins but tells him to pipe down.

''How we gonna get them out, Arthur?'' the younger man asks. Arthur pushes the other door of the truck open and stares at the open road, spotting the headlights of the other bikes following from behind.

''We're drivin' 'em out.''

Arthur jumps in the driver's seat of the Aston Martin and pauses a moment, running his gloved hands over the steering wheel before raising his eyes to the windshield. He presses his palm against the dashboard before starting the car, grinning as it purrs to life. His eyes rise to the rear view mirror, finding Lenny staring and waiting like a kid on Christmas.

The blond lets out a breath before pressing the acceleration down, driving out the back of the truck and slamming onto the highway. He bounces in his seat, turning the wheel to over-correct the back end trying to slide out. Lenny skids past him on the road and they both steer the cars around, Arthur stopping his car as Lenny slowly reverses past, grinning in the driver's seat of his blue Ferrari.

He sees the back doors of the truck flap in the wind as it gets smaller in the horizon, motorcycle engines humming up to the windows, every man around looking at their steals in appreciation until Lenny lines up with Arthur, rolling down his windows with the radio blasting. Arthur finds the switch after several minutes and rolls his own down.

''You wish you were in this one!'' Lenny shouts, turning the radio up and smiling as Charles comes to the window of the driver's side to look at the inside of the Ferrari. Dutch pulls up between the two cars, looking at Arthur.

''I bet you're glad you trusted me now, aren't you?'' the older man asks.

Arthur shrugs, but the smile won't leave his face, savoring the grip on the smooth steering wheel.

''I gotta say, this better make up for the cash we dropped back in Las Vegas.'' he responds.

''It will, Arthur. More than you can imagine.''

The dirty blond looks into the backseat as Dutch gives he and Lenny directions as to where to take the cars.

''What about the bikes?'' John asks.

''That's what we were going to use the truck for.'' Dutch answers and shrugs as Arthur looks back. ''Might as well call for the truck back at the club, then. Get the cars where they need to go, and don't get a scratch on them.''

Arthur salutes, slowly rolling past Dutch, Lenny joining him. Miles from Dutch, Lenny begins speeding up and Arthur joins him in racing to the directions they were given, following the freeways back to Ehrenberg.

-

They slow down as they approach their destination, Arthur taking the lead to pull in behind a bar. He pulls the car in underneath the interstate when he spots Hosea's grey hair and the gang truck. Arthur slows in the space he's directed to by a kid that couldn't be a lot older than high school, Lenny pulling in behind him.

It's difficult to say goodbye, but Arthur steps from the Aston and checks on Lenny, seeing him staring sadly at the dashboard of the Ferrari, saying something to the car before he steps out after Arthur. He comes to the older man's side, Arthur walking carefully to Hosea who passes them and meets with the head of the other group, making a quick deal.

He's brought a bag with cash inside, Hosea unzipping it and looking inside. He reaches his arm deep inside, Lenny leaning closer to see better. The older man doesn't break eye contact with the men in front of him as he pulls a bail of cash out, pulling the bills back. His eyes turn down so he can scan the money. Hosea scans them over again before throwing the bills into the duffel, zipping it closed, shaking on it and closing the deal.

Hosea lifts the bag and Arthur takes it from his grip, the other gang climbing into the car's they'd bought and driving them out from under the interstate while Arthur throws the bag into the footwell. Lenny buckles himself in as Hosea pulls his seatbelt across his chest.

''I see it went well.'' Hosea states.

Arthur nods.

''Yup.''

''We had to drive the cars out the back of the truck.'' Lenny says. ''I thought I was in an action movie.''

The oldest man's eyes bore into the side of Arthur's face as he hums, the drive becoming stiff and silent until they pull into the compound. Lenny hops out, Sean handing him a bottle of beer as his foot hits the pavement, Arthur reaching into the footwell to grab the handles of the bag to drag it out.

He follows Hosea to the entrance of the club, Hosea unlocking the door and letting them in, holding the door for the younger man as he brings the bag inside. Arthur drops it on Dutch's desk in his office, John soon coming to help them count. Hosea counts first, Arthur second. He sets the bills aside as he counts, hearing a gentle snore coming from the oldest man in the midst.

''Wake him up.'' Arthur whispers.

''I can't.''

The dirty blond looks up to the snoring man.

''He's got to be present and conscious.''

''I'm awake.'' Hosea promises.

Arthur grins.

''You're just resting your eyes?''

''Mm hm...'' Hosea hums. ''Obviously.''

They have over four hundred thousand dollars from the score, stashing it in the safe so Dutch could count it when he got back in the morning.

He wakes some time past ten the next day, slumped on one of the bunks in the club bedroom and unable to force himself to sit up until he hears the door open gently, hinges whining. Arthur hears distant conversation somewhere at the back of the clubhouse.

''Arthur?'' its Miss Grimshaw.

He hums in response.

''Dutch wanted to say thank you, but he had to go and couldn't find you.''

'' 's fine.'' he responds.

''And Abigail is looking for you.''

''Gotcha.''

She leaves, bringing a cup of coffee back with her for him with added sugar inside. Arthur thanks her and sips it, slowly bringing himself to stand and exit the bedroom. He follows the hallway towards the main center, passing the doors of the meeting room to see Abigail and Grimshaw arguing in Susan's office space, Strauss across the hall standing to shut his own small office door, sharing a glance with the younger man until the door click shuts.

He spots Jack playing at the pool table, on his tippy toes trying to roll the ball around and hit them into the pockets, pushing them along with the palm of his hand.

Abigail glances up as the older woman hands her a folder, pushing her on and ordering her to get it to Strauss across the hall. She stands, huffing and turning away from Grimshaw to approach Arthur and step out of the room, shutting the door.

''Mean old hag.'' she mutters. Arthur smiles, lifting his cup back to his mouth as the woman knocks on Strauss' office door. She drops the folder inside as Arthur wanders over to Jack, the girl coming to his shoulder.

''Where's John?'' he asks.

''Out with Dutch, again. Scoutin' something. Some banks they want to try and turn over or something.''

He watches Jack stare at the pool balls with a lonely look, big and baggy shirt making him look like he was swimming in it. The cuffs of his pants were frayed from being too long, shoes dirty as well.

''When was the last time you bought him new clothes?'' Arthur asks Abigail.

''John thinks our money should go to something better... He don't know any better, either. He only wears that fucking vest of his with the Van Der Linde seal and the same two pairs of jeans with those boots...''

John grew up in the gang like Arthur did, given power and a feeling of belonging for the first time. He loved that gang, he would die for it just as Arthur would, but there were times that he needed to move his priorities around.

''Our job last night, it'll give us the money for you to get Jack new clothes.'' he promises.

''I sure hope so... We were goin' to use the money from LV on new things but-''

''I know, Abigail.''

''Would you-'' Abigail turns to him and cuts herself off as his eyes shift to her from the boy. ''Would you mind taking Jack out, or something? Maybe to the park?''

''The park?''

''I know it sounds ridiculous but Jack doesn't know many other kids his age since we're always here and John's never here to spend time with him. He's still holdin' strong to the idea that Jack ain't his.''

Arthur slowly begins to nod.

''Sure. I'll take 'im to the park.''

''Could... Could you leave your jacket here?'' she requests. The Van Der Linde seal counted as a target on his back, even if he was with a child. Not that his face wasn't enough to get himself incriminated or shot anyways, but Abigail had reason to worry when that seal was around her child. ''I know it's ridiculous but-''

''I get it.'' he tells her, giving a nod. He unzips the coat and shrugs it from his shoulders, t-shirt pulling at his chest as the coat catches. Abigail helps him remove it and he folds it, allowing the red white and black wolf seal to be seen. ''If anyone asks about it, tell 'em you were just washin' it, alright?''

Abigail nods, thanking him yet again before quickly rushing away with his coat in her arms.

Arthur turns to Jack who's now found himself more interested in bothering Strauss through the window, tiny mind bored.

''Hey, Jack.''

Bright, big eyes turn to face him, staring up at him.

''Hi Uncle Arthur.''

''What're you doin' there?''

''Trying to get Uncle Strauss's attention...'' Jack keeps tapping and Arthur sees Strauss sigh, rubbing the side of his head inside. Arthur chuckles, patting Jack's hand down. ''I don't think he wants to talk to me.''

''He's busy workin'.'' he explains. ''You wanna go to the park with me?''

Jack hops down from the chair he pulled up in front of Strauss' office window.

''Not really. I like it here! I like waiting for the bikes!''

''But there's swings and slides and... Things at the park. Maybe some people walkin' dogs too.''

Jack grabs Arthur's hand and jumps up and down, frumpy shirt bouncing with him.

''Are you going to swing too, Uncle Arthur?''

He smiles.

''I'll see.'' he tells him. Arthur reached the age where swinging made him incredibly dizzy and he had more nausea than fun from it, but Jack seemed excited. He walks Jack from the clubhouse and out of the compound, following the road towards the neighborhoods across the intersection.

The neighborhoods there were mainly made up of cheap apartments, the same cheap apartments that the Marston's lived in. Arthur lived across from their bundle of apartments, but he rarely got back to appreciate the place.

They cross the intersection, Jack grabbing his hand on instinct and probably what Abigail taught him before running to the flowers growing in the flowerbed on the other side of the road, picking one and holding it up to announce he was going to give it to his mother. Arthur directs him to the park, the young boy racing towards the monkey bars the moment his feet hit the wood chips.

The biker follows slowly, watching the four year old clamber up and climb across, giggling and smiling. Arthur begins to chase him around the play structure, Jack giggling and squealing as Arthur tries climbing up the slide to get him, slipping and sliding back down. He hears Jack laughing and decides to hoist himself up the rock wall instead, out of breath and reaching to grab the young boy as he tries running past.

He grabs the back of his shirt and Jack loses his footing, but Arthur also loses his grip. Jack falls, smacking onto the floor of the play structure. There's a split second of silence where Arthur's heart rate picks up before Jack inhales sharply and instead starts laughing in place of crying. The older man stands and picks Jack up, brushing him off and ruffling his hair.

 


	7. Who the Hell is Leviticus Cornwall?

''You alright?'' he asks him.

Jack nods, rubbing his elbow as his lower lip begins to push out and his eyes begin to well.

''I hurt my elbow...'' Arthur gently lifts his arm, crouching in front of the boy.

''Lemme look, kiddo.''

Jack has scraped the skin on his elbow from his landing, but he isn't bleeding. Arthur blows on it gently and wipes the dirt surrounding it off. 

''It's jus' a scrape.'' he promises. Jack is still trying not to cry, lowering his eyes to his shoes as Arthur lowers his arm. ''You wanna go back?''

The young boy shakes his head, clasping his small hand over his wound. 

''What would make it better?'' he asks. 

''Ice cream...'' Jack whispers. 

Arthur breathes out a laugh, a small smile crossing Jack's face as the older man stands and rubs Jack's hair back into a mess again. 

''I can get you swings.'' he tells him. Jack is already smiling again, running to the slide, launching himself down and yelling for his uncle Arthur to do the same. He climbs into the yellow slide, not going as fast as Jack and instead having to scoot himself down the plastic. 

He picks Jack up, the young boy giggling, and sits him on the swing before pulling the chains back. Jack adjusts his position on the swing as Arthur bluffs letting go of the swing. The kid giggles as Arthur brings it higher to his shoulders, suddenly letting go and hearing Jack giggle away. 

Arthur pushes him forward when Jack swings back, seeing him smiling. 

''Do you see those flowers, uncle Arthur?'' Jack asks. Arthur looks to where the tiny fist is pointing, seeing small daisies growing in the midst of the dying grass. 

''Yeah.''

''Tilly taught me how to make things out of those!'' he says. 

''Did she now?''

''Uh huh! She's good at making things!''

Arthur smiles, slowing the swing to let Jack hop off and run to the flowers. Jack shows him how Tilly taught him knots, picking the flowers and tying them together. 

''Now what're you gonna make?'' Arthur asks him, pushing his hands in his pockets. 

''A bracelet. Or necklace. For momma!''

''Your momma would sure appreciate that, son.''

''Fine young man you have there,'' Arthur lifts his head with Jack to see two men, obviously federal agents, approaching them. Jack stands from his crouched position and Arthur steps around him, hand secure on his head to block him from the other two. ''And in such complex circumstances.''

The one who speaks is tall, and lanky with acne scarring across both cheeks. He wears an expensive looking suit with a wire trailing from his ear, in no way trying to hide who he was or what he was affiliated with. The man beside him is more round with smaller eyes, his palm resting against the gun on his hip in a trigger-happy fashion. 

''Arthur, isn't it?'' the agent asks. ''Arthur Morgan?''

''Who're you?'' he questions. 

'' _Yes_ ,'' the two men walk closer, meandering in a teasing pace as Arthur feels Jack grip the seam of his jeans and press against his leg in fear. ''Arthur Morgan... Van Der Linde's most trusted associate.''

He feels tiny hands pull at his jeans, as if Jack was asking for them to run away. 

''High school kid, barely passed,'' the agent continues speaking. ''Stuck in the foster system and then kicked away when he became eighteen...'' the rounder man beside him nods. ''Stuck fighting for himself when someone gives him a place; a silver tongued maniac with a messiah complex bigger than the empire state building.''

They take several steps closer, Jack making a small noise behind Arthur. 

''Agent Milton,'' he presses his hand to his chest before gesturing to the man at his side, both brandishing their badges. ''Agent Ross. Federal Bureau of Investigation. It's nice to finally meet you, since we know so much on your past, your crimes. How Van Der Linde turned you into a degenerate murderer with a smoking problem.''

''Do you?'' he asks. 

''You're a wanted man, Mr. Morgan. There's a fine price on your head for anyone who brings you in. Most of the state of California is after you by now. There's a couple thousand dollars on your head alone.''

''A couple thousand? Damn... That's rent paid off for, huh?'' he gives a smile, the other two watching as he leans a bit closer. ''Can I turn myself in?''

''We want Van Der Linde.''

''Old Dutch? Well I ain't seen him in... Months.'' thank God for Abigail, or else he'd be stuck trying to feign a different excuse with the Van Der Linde seal pasted on his back 

''Is that so? Because I heard a man fitting his description had been spotted robbing a truck of expensive cars belonging to Leviticus Cornwall on the I-10 near the California border.''

''A truck of cars? Ain't that a bit too dangerous?''

''Apparently not, Mr. Morgan. This is my offer-'' Ross, the trigger happy friend stays behind as the lanky one raises his hands and walks closer to the biker.''-bring in Van Der Linde, and I'll make sure you don't get a life sentence in prison.''

Arthur raises his hand, pointing. 

''Listen, agent erm...'' 

''Milton.''

The man nods, lowering his hand again to Jack who grips it immediately. 

''I ain't done nothin' wrong, except for maybe not followin' some of your rules.'' he explains. Milton rolls his eyes, scoffing. 

''Spare me the philosophy lesson, Mr. Morgan. I already heard it from Mac Callander.''

The biker's eyes widen and Milton grins when he knows he's got him.

''Mac...?''

''He was pretty shot up when we found him on the I-40, bleeding out. It was really just a mercy killing.'' he clucks his tongue. ''Slow, but merciful.''

Arthur bites his tongue as he stares at the ground before stepping closer with a grunt. Milton extends his back as Ross raises his gun to Arthur's face immediately, Jack making a noise of fear behind him and letting go of his uncle's hand. 

''You enjoy bein' a rich man's toy, do ya?!'' Milton is unphased, Ross still holding the gun strongly to Arthur's face. 

''Bring me Van Der Linde, Mr. Morgan.''

''I ain't seen 'im.''

Milton steps closer, his breath hot on Arthur's nose as he begins to speak, jabbing his finger into the other man's chest. 

''You people venerate savagery, and you will all die, savagely!''

''Oh, we're all gon' die, agent.''

''Some of us sooner than others.''

Milton steps back, Ross slowly lowering his gun as his partner begins walking towards their car. 

''Good day, Mr.Morgan.''

'' _Goodbye_.'' he grounds out. 

Ross pushes his gun back into its holster on his belt, looking to Jack who stands strongly behind Arthur's legs still. 

''Have fun flower pickin' kid,'' he speaks. ''While you still can.''

He chuckles, following Milton back to the car. 

Jack steps out from behind Arthur's legs finally, holding the chain of daisies up to point to the black SUV that drives from the parking lot.

''Who are they?'' he asks, fear gone and replaced by young curiosity. 

''No one,'' Arthur answers, placing his hand on Jack's head and turning him away. ''No one at all.''

Jack strolls away, interlocking the final knot of the daisy necklace. 

''How 'bout we go get lunch, and then I'll buy you that ice cream?''

Jack agrees, forgetting about the scrape on his elbow and the gun crammed into Arthur's face. 

-

Arthur causes the boy to get on a sugar high, Jack bouncing off the walls of the clubhouse when they get back. He only slows down when he wants to hand the bracelet he made off to his mother, immediately rushing off to go and find Lenny or Sean to bother; the two big kids. 

''Did he thank you?'' Abigail asks. 

''No need,'' Arthur hands her a bag of chips he'd bought from the cafè across from the ice cream parlor. She smiles and takes it gratefully before handing his jacket back to him. 

He shrugs it on in silence, clearing his throat and patting the breast pocket for his sunglasses. 

''What's wrong?'' she asks. Arthur shakes his head, finding the black tinted glasses. 

''Nothin'. Just met some folk. I gotta go speak to Dutch.''

She nods, stepping away from him and heading instead after her sugar crazed son. He turns quickly, going up to Dutch's office door and knocking on the open doorframe. Black eyes raise to him from reading the reports Strauss organized. 

''Come on in, Arthur.'' he steps in and checks outside before shutting the door, facing Dutch. 

''We got a problem.''

''What?''

''Some guys at the park,'' he points back to the door. ''Two agents, Milton and erm... I don't know the other's name- Ross. Milton and Ross-''

''And?''

''And they're feds, Dutch. And they know we hit that truck, and that some angry old man is payin' them to arrest the man who did it.''

''Who?''

''Leviticus... Leviticus Cornwall, or somethin'.''

''Who the hell is Leviticus Cornwall?''

''I don't know, but he's payin' them to get you-'' Dutch stands from his desk, dropping the report. ''-and they asked me to turn you in, exchanging my freedom.''

The older man faces the window. 

''Why didn't you take it?''

''Hilarious, Dutch.'' he answers, taking a step closer as his chest heaves. ''What're we gonna do?''

Dutch places his hands on his hips, still staring out the window towards the parking lot that desperately needed re-doing. 

''We... Aren't going to do a thing.'' he says, turning his face to Arthur's. ''We are going to stay r _ight here._  They're just tryin' to scare us off; tryin' to intimidate us from our own town-our own state. We are goin' to  _stay_  here, in this clubhouse, and continue business per usual.'' 

He raises a finger and drops it again, placing his hand back on his waist. The sun shines through the blinds, dust falling around the wolf seal on the back of Dutch's vest. 

''They... Milton said he killed Mac.'' Arthur finishes. Dutch hums sadly, giving a nod. 

''We'll do something in his honor like we did Jenny, and Davey. I'll get someone onto figuring out who Cornwall is.''

-

Arthur is cleaning their guns with Karen when Mary-Beth pulls him aside, informing him that Dutch called for him. He sets the gun down and hands the towel off to the younger woman before leaving the small backroom to slip into the main are of the clubhouse. 

The black-haired man is waving Hosea off, slipping some quick answer in before he clasps his hand on Arthur's shoulder and pulls him off to the garage. 

''I called our dear Josiah,'' Dutch says, Arthur watching Hosea turn into Strauss' office. ''I found out he had been invited once to a party Cornwall was hosting in New York.''

''Did he go?''

Dutch nods, pushing the door open to lead them into the short concrete hallway. 

''Lots of jewels on display, expensive paintings and old statues. The man has his own collection and doesn't even know its worth. And that was just for decoration!'' the older man stops at the second door, hand resting on the knob. ''Now listen, I found out that our friend, Leviticus, owns and has investments in everything under the goddamn sun-from football teams to the medical industry. He's the type of man who will buy a boat worth millions just to look at it and brag about it to his friends. He's got more than enough money to share, if it's willingly or not.''

''Are we hittin' him again, Dutch?''

He shakes his head. 

''Not just yet, Arthur.'' he wags his finger, pulling the garage door open. ''Not just yet.''

Arthur watches Dutch slip into the garage before he hears Strauss speak. 

''Herr Morgan?'' he turns, the older man peeking his head out from his small office with a paper in his hand. He holds it up as the dirt blond approaches. ''I have this. A debt I need collecting.''

''Ah, Strauss... You know we couldn't be loanin' any money to anybody.'' he takes the paper off of the other man. 

''This is an old transaction. We were giving the family loans and then they stopped around two months ago. I gave them a month to figure it out and now I need you to solve it for me.''

Arthur reads the paper, mapping out where to go when he reads the address. He nods his head, folding the directions and pushing it into his jacket pocket. 

''I'll see what I can do.''

'' _Danke_ , Herr Morgan.''

The sun is setting when Arthur leaves the compound, taking the back alleys behind the chain link fence in case of any eyes on the building. He arrives to the Downes home to find a man zipping his coat up and warming his hands. The biker pulls the motorcycle onto the gravel driveway and pulls up beside the man who watches with scared eyes as he slowly gets off. 

''You Thomas Downes?'' he asks. The man nods, stepping back and reaching for the Christmas lights set on the porch. Arthur takes a few steps closer, watching Downes hop up on the stairs leading up to his porch. ''Now listen, I ain't here to hurt ya. I need the money. The loan? You remember that?''

Downes nods. 

''You ain't been payin', and that ain't been makin' us happy.''

Arthur stops at the stairs, being able to properly see the other man's face under the light fastened to the wall beside him as he speaks. 

''We've been tryin'.'' Downes responds. Arthur is quiet as he looks over the man's gaunt features. His cheeks are hollowed out, so are his eye sockets. His eyes look like they're bruised and his nose is the only part of his face that holds any proper color, just a light shade of pink. 

''Do you... Got somethin'?''he asks. 

''No, no money. I'm-''

''No I mean-'' Arthur points to the stricken color on Downes face. ''-you seem...''

''Oh.'' Downes touches his face, shaky hands pressed against his cheek before he shakes his head. ''We've been tryin' to pay medical bills for the last two months, and it was either pay for my medicine or pay you back and I didn't wanna die.''

''Lemme see the medication.'' he says. 

''My meds?''

Arthur nods. 

''Go on, get 'em. I need proof or I'll come into your house myself and find the cash.''

Downes rushes inside and Arthur leans against the porch banister as he waits, trusting the man to not pull something and call the cops while he's inside. Thomas comes back out with pill bottles and his wife, his son stepping out too. 

Arthur turns and Downes hands them off, the biker leaning back. 

''It contagious?'' he asks. The other man shakes his head. 

''It's a tumor, inside.'' Downes explains. ''I've been taking these to control the pain.''

It's a whole mix of drugs, barely combined to make sure that Downes didn't overdose on a highly toxic mix of opioids. Arthur opens the bottles and checks inside, finding that the man was running low and possibly needing to pay his pills off again just to stay alive. He digs the heels of his boots into the gravel pathway before closing the bottles, raising them back to the family in front of him with clenched teeth. 

The Downes wife takes it quickly as the husband stutters. 

''You're-you want inside?''

''No.'' Arthur shakes his head, looking up at him. ''I'll have this excused.''

He turns away, walking back to his bike as he hears the man thanking him, his wife shushing him and directing him back inside. Arthur sticks his key in the ignition and fires the engine on, raising his eyes to the son who stares back, both parts confused and confident.


	8. Loose Cash

''Arthur!'' he's finishing up washing the soap from his motorbike when Bill's voice cuts into his concentration, forcing his eyes to lift. He's followed by Karen and Lenny, the three of them holding a fire of excitement in their faces. 

The older man turns the hose off and drops it on the ground, wiping his hands down the front of his jeans as Bill grows closer. 

''What do you want now?'' Arthur groans, Bill coming around his side to lean against his bike from which the dirt blond pulls him away to polish the seat. Bill laughs quietly. 

''We want you to help us.''

''Help you do what?''

''A job!'' Karen answers. ''Over in Wintersburg!''

''That's almost a hundred miles away.'' Arthur states, wiping the seat of his bike off. 

''You don't worry about distance usually.'' Lenny jokes, folding his hands behind his head. The other two nod and murmur.

''What kind of job?''

''A bank.'' Bill purrs.

Arthur sighs, drying his hands on a towel. 

''No!'' he responds flatly. ''A bank? Now?''

''No, we got a good plan for it!'' Bill answers. 

''You never have a good plan.''

Karen stops Bill before he can argue the point. 

''We ain't gonna take bills bigger than hundreds, Arthur.'' she says as the older man goes back to polishing the seat of his bike. ''The hundreds belong to the bank, the money in the safe will have dye packs that'll blow while we're runnin' with 'em. We take ones, fives, tens, and twenties, and we leave the safe alone. We get the small cash, keep anyone who's in the bank quiet, and we get the hell outta there.''

''And I heard that the company's tryin' to switch their camera systems over to somethin' new, so their cameras won't be rollin' either.'' Bill says. 

Arthur looks up, towel coming to a stop in his grip. 

-

Lenny drops the three of them off in the parking lot across the road of the back of the small bank, reversing quietly to hide the car in the back alley. He meets them at the door as an elderly couple leaves the bank, waddling down the street together.

Bill looks to Arthur who looks to Karen, the blond re-applying her lipstick before pushing the door open and heading into the bank. The three stand outside, hearing her complain and cry to the teller about her problems, her inheritance not being given to her, and all of her bills that she simply couldn't stay on top of. 

''Ma'am, are you-''

''-and then they told me that I didn't have a place there!''

''Are you trying to open an account?''

''-while my sister- _oh_ , don't get me started on her!''

''Maybe I can interest you-''

''Are we goin' in?'' Bill asks. Arthur shakes his head. 

''Wait for her to really pull 'em in.'' he tells him. They wait, hearing the teller's tone slowly shifting to sympathy before the man asks her if he can help her with anything, offering her scones they had bought earlier that morning. ''Now!"

Bill enters first, their masks pulled on over their faces, grabbing the teller's collar and throwing him into the ground as Arthur enters behind him. Lenny stays at the door as Bill drags the teller away from the glass window, Karen cocking her gun and raising it to the man exiting the bathrooms at the back of the bank. 

Arthur throws the bag onto the counter as Bill steers the man around the back, shouting commands. He pushes the barrel of his pistol further into the man's neck as he cries, holding his hands high in fear. 

''Loose cash, give us the loose cash!'' Bill orders as Arthur grabs the man exiting the bathroom, throwing him onto the ground and forcing him to hand over his wallet. 

''You ain't gonna find anythin' in there, boy.'' the man tells him. Arthur rifles through it, finding cards and family photos along with two quarters. He shuts it and drops it back in the man's hands. 

''Where's your fuckin' money?!'' he asks. 

''No one carries cash anymore.'' the older man tells him. 

''We got the first bag.'' Bill says, Arthur looking up to watch the bag fly through the air and into Lenny's grip. Karen hands her empty purse over to Bill who orders the man to get the rest out and put it inside, handing a third bag over. 

''Y'all are makin' a big mistake-'' the man begins. Arthur pats him down and pulls his pistol out from his belt, tossing it towards the trashcan beside the large potted plant in the corner. It bounces off the side and into the dirt of the plant. 

Bill throws the bright red purse back to Karen and she walks towards the door, taking a deep breath before simply strolling out. Arthur walks backwards, pointing his pistol still towards the man on the floor as Bill fumes over the bank teller, pushing his gun so hard into his skin to cause it to bruise. 

''Leave 'em alone.'' Arthur tells him, motioning Lenny out with the backpack. The younger man jogs out, following Karen back to the car. He looks back after not getting a response from Bill, the bank teller weeping quietly. ''Hey!'' 

Bill looks up before grunting, pushing the man down against the counter and walking back around, shoving the bank door open and following Lenny. Arthur turns back towards the two men, leaving with a threat before he steps out through the bank doors. Bill puts the car in reverse to get Arthur in, the older man jumping in the back beside Karen who was now cleaning her face of make-up and letting her hair fall from the hat she had been wearing, bag pushed in under the driver's seat. 

''Drive faster.'' Arthur tells Bill, looking over his shoulder through the back windshield towards the quiet bank. 

''Why?'' Bill asks, removing his mask from his face and throwing it in the back between he and Karen. Arthur's eyes widen as the man from before runs out with his pistol, aiming for the back windshield.

''Shit!'' Lenny shouts as a bullet cracks the wall beside the car, Bill pushing the pedal down and forcing the tiny car to speed up as a jagged piece having belonged to the wall now lodges in and cracks the windshield. Arthur looks up from ducking, watching the bank grow smaller behind them as Bill hoots happily and the other two join him. 

They drive the car out to La Paz valley, Karen leaving the boys and the car outside of a McDonalds run by a high employee who only squints at the back windshield when he notices the crack. Arthur takes over driving, the other two eating in the backseat as he drives the car out to an empty construction lot filled with deep holes and diggers. 

He stops the car in front of one of them and steps out, Bill handing him the backpack while Lenny grabs the purse and steps out, the older man slinging the backpack over his arm. Arthur pushes his sunglasses up his nose while Bill climbs out, downing his soda and tossing it in through the open door before he slams it shut, slinging the third bag over his shoulder. 

Karen arrives in the car they had stashed, pulling it up behind their getaway and pulling the handbrake before she steps out and approaches the getaway. Arthur drops the bag of money on the hood of the car she brought, Lenny and Bill following before he shifts the brake of their getaway off and hooks his hand around the doorframe, Bill helping Karen begin pushing at the back. The three of them press their weight into it, Arthur feeling the muscles in his arms and stomach constrict as the car begins to slowly roll forward, his boots trying not to slide out from under him in the dirt. 

He watches the tire roll over the edge of the dirt ramp before it slides down the hill, wheeling straight into the dirt wall of the wide hole, the headlights audibly breaking and the front end being bashed in. Arthur steps back, Karen coming to his shoulder to wipe her hands off as Bill heads towards the digger and begins burying the car, leaving no trace of them behind. 

-

Arthur parks his bike near the garage when he gets back, newly bought backpack resting on his shoulders with the weight of the cash they'd stolen pulling it down. He steps off and strolls across the compound, the clubhouse and surrounding area oddly quiet for its usual tune. 

He pushes the door of the clubhouse open, finding soft jazz soaring from the direction of Dutch's office, Jack coloring at the booth closest to the empty meeting room as Strauss' office stands empty, even the garage quiet too. There's incense burning and it makes his sneeze , capturing Jack's attention from his coloring book. 

''Hi uncle Arthur!'' he says happily, gripping the pages of his book to hold it up to him, ripping the corner to show his big blue scribbles. ''Look what I did!''

He wipes his nose as he walks closer, eyes following Jack's happy and sporadic scribbles across the page. 

''That's very good, Jack.'' he tells him, lowering his hand from his face and sniffling.

''Welcome back, Arthur.'' the voice belongs to Tilly, who is busy looking at the new backpack resting on his shoulders as she comes closer to Jack, the soft jazz lowering a volume from Dutch's office. 

''Hey, Tilly.'' she sits back with Jack, having brought a fresh sheet of paper for herself. ''I'm guessin' Dutch ain't here.''

She shakes her head, smiling. 

''Hosea's in charge until Dutch gets back.''

''Where's... Everyone else?'' he asks. 

''Different jobs. Abigail ran to the apartment quickly for something.''

Arthur nods. 

''Alright, thanks.''

He turns towards Dutch's office, slowing as he reaches the doorway. Hosea glances up immediately from a paper his eyes were dancing across, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. 

''You're back earlier than I thought you would be.'' Hosea tells him as Arthur steps inside, slipping the backpack from his shoulders and holding it at his side instead while the other removes his reading glasses and hooks them on the collar of his shirt, standing from the desk. 

''The plan was pretty damn good.'' he explains as the older man comes around the mahogany table, leading him back out of the room. ''Where's Dutch?''

''No doubt getting himself into trouble.'' Hosea holds the meeting room door open for Arthur, giving a smile to both Tilly and Jack before he shuts the door after them. Arthur drops the bag on the table, hearing bikes roaring back into the compound. 

''What's new about that?'' he asks. Hosea chuckles, grunting as he seats himself and drags the bag across the surface of the table towards himself. 

''Absolutely nothing, other than that I'm not there to keep him from running his big mouth and getting himself  _shot_.''

Arthur sits down, leaning back in the broad leather chair. 

''Oh, I almost forgot this,'' Hosea reaches into his jacket pocket, brandishing a silver locket with a symbol engraved on the front. He holds it up towards the younger man who leans across the table almost immediately, gently holding his hands underneath the chain to allow for it to be dropped in. 

Hosea slowly lowers it into the other man's palms and Arthur brings it closer to the light, lifting the locket and feeling the chain glide across his skin. It's a simple oval, and the locket looks a bit worn, but the imprint can still be seen and it still opens, revealing the older photograph of Arthur's mother on the inside. 

''Where did you even find this?'' he asks, breathless. 

''I went to the storage room with Abigail, trying to find something that Dutch could use as a peace offering for Molly-  _crazy Irish bitch_.'' Arthur smiles, closing the locket. ''It's in pretty good shape, given how long it might have been in that room.''

''Christ,'' Arthur undoes the chain to hold it up to his neck, clasping it shut and letting it fall against his chest. It feels heavy with memories, burning through his shirt directly into the skin. ''I thought I lost this forever... Thank you.''

Hosea nods, offering a small smile towards the younger man. 

Arthur grabs John after he gets back from his job, Charles counting the money with them. They get a good few thousand again and secure the cash in Dutch's safe.

Dutch arrives back after three days, Micah riding behind him but Arthur ignores them, moving into the kitchen to avoid having to speak or see Micah more than he needed to or more than Dutch forced him to have to. 

He hears Pearson arguing as he grabs an apple, biting into it as Pearson shows himself from behind the fridge. Sadie's screaming something rotten, following him in and stopping at the sink as the chef opens a drawer, pushing the random pieces of kitchenware aside in attempt to find something. 

''Say all you want,'' she says, grabbing a knife from the drying rack and facing Pearson with it held high. ''But if I don't get out of here soon, I'm gonna end up killin' someone.''

Pearson grabs the meat mallet and turns back around, holding it up in return. 

''And if you don't stop your hissin', I'm gonna kill you!''

''What is wrong with you two?'' Arthur asks around the bite of apple, stepping closer to Sadie who promptly shoves the blade of the knife into the cutting board beside her. 

''I ain't choppin' vegetables for a livin'!'' she tells him, huffing loudly as Arthur hears the meat mallet drop back into the drawer. Arthur continues chewing, rolling his eyes. ''Listen, I ain't lazy, Mr. Morgan. I'll do work, but not this!''

''Ain't cookin' work?'' Sadie walks past him, shouldering Pearson who scoops up an envelope and sends her a glare as she passes, headed for the exit. Arthur pats the other man's shoulder as he follows her, the woman scratching her eyebrow and hugging herself with her free arm.

He tosses his apple into the trashcan beside his legs, leaning back against the kitchen countertop as the other turns back around. 

''My husband and I, Jake, we shared the work.'' she tells him. ''All of it. I was feedin' our chickens, I was runnin' the eggs back and forth. We worked on gettin' our generator to work, or choppin' firewood in the coldest parts of the winter. I know how to use a gun, how to carry a knife-I ain't unprepared or untalented to not be in your gang.''

Arthur tilts his head slightly as he thinks over her words. 

''But I tell you, you keep me here too long and I'll skin that fat old fuck and grill him!'' she takes a step closer, Arthur lifting his head as Pearson retorts. 

''Why don't you shut your mouth, you crazy bitch!''

Sadie launches herself at him and Arthur catches her around the waist, using the momentum to spin them back and push her towards the door. 

''Stop it! Both of ya!'' Sadie sets her hand on her hips, turning and facing them again with fire in her eyes. ''You wanna work? You wanna  _ride with the guys_? We ain't just hunters and killers, there's others tryin' to hunt and kill us too, and they got guns just as big or bigger than ours.''

''I ain't afraid of dyin'.'' she tells him firmly. 

Arthur stares back at her, nodding. 

''Good...'' He raises his head back to Pearson. ''You need anythin', Pearson? Me and Mrs.Adler are gon' take a little ride.''

Pearson sighs, nodding and picking the envelope back up to hand over to Arthur with a crumpled list. 

''Just this... And the envelope, if you can mail this letter for me I'll make it up to you.''

Arthur nods, walking past Sadie towards the exit where he pushes the door open. He stops, looking back. 

''Are you comin' with me then, princess?'' he asks. 

She gives one final glare to Pearson before following Arthur out. 


	9. Widow

''Where are we goin'?'' 

Arthur pulls the drivers side door open as they reach the truck, climbing in as the woman grips the handle of the passenger's side. 

''To the store.'' he sticks the keys in the ignition and starts it up, hearing Sadie's seatbelt click. He glances over, ignoring his own before he pushes the gear from park, reversing out of the spot and driving out of the compound. 

''So I've upgraded from choppin' food, to shoppin' for it?'' Sadie asks. 

Arthur sighs, hand resting over the top of the steering wheel as he rolls the windows down some. 

''You wanted out from Pearson, and this is out.'' he tells her. 

She turns her eyes to face outside as they pull up to the red light, Arthur relaxing back against the seat.

''Why're you with us anyways if you hate it so much?'' he asks her, turning his eyes from the lights. 

''Your enemies killed my husband.'' she explains. ''And to be honest, I ain't got much more family in Montana. Jake is dead, your gang buried him and helped me give a service. What I got now is y'all and I know you can help me kill the men who took Jakey from me.''

''Now we ain't a charity service-''

''I know you ain't.'' Sadie interrupts. ''But you hate those green colored shits as much as I do, and I got one big one I'm particularly wantin' to stab.''

''And you think Dutch'll help ya?''

''Maybe not Dutch, but someone in your gang will. You're bikers, you're tough, rough, and fighters.''

''We don't do lots of hired killin'..''

''Not lots, but you make it sound like you do some.''

Arthur pulls away from the intersection, eyes on the road and the mirrors. 

''You're right; we hate O'Driscolls because of a feud that started decades ago that's still on fire and chasing us across the country. This is the longest we've spent at the clubhouse not goin' after Colm and his men.''

''What were you doin' in Montana anyways?''

He groans, flicking the indicator on and pulling to the right side of the road. 

''We botched a plan in LV and had to keep runnin'. That's why we had so many memorials these last few weeks along with your husband bein' remembered. We ain't ever lose that many in a job like that before.''

''I'm sorry for your losses.''

He merges onto the freeway, eyes hard. 

''You too, Mrs. Adler.''

They arrive at the stores some time later, Arthur opening his door and listening to the alarm chime because he left the keys in the ignition. 

''So what's the plan? I shoot the cashier and you grab the money?'' Sadie brandishes a gun and Arthur slams his door shut, grabbing her wrist and pushing her hands down. 

''What in the hell are you doin'?!'' he asks. Her eyes look up at him, feigning an innocence behind that strong burning fire. ''No we ain't robbin' the place! Gimme that!''

He pulls the gun from her grip and pulls the magazine out, shoving it into his pocket and throwing the now useless gun into the glove compartment. 

''You tryin' to get the cops called on us?''

''Yeah cause your coat's makin' us real inconspicuous!'' Arthur glares as he steps out of the truck, Pearson's list in one hand and the letter in the other. He rolls his shoulders subconsciously, pulling at the collar of the coat and feeling the tips of his fingers sliding over the thin metal chain of the locket Hosea found for him. 

He hands the list over to Sadie as she reaches his side. 

''Go inside, ask for Jeff and tell him you're with us.'' Arthur says, the woman's fingers pulling the paper from his grip. 

''Where are you goin'?'' she asks. 

''I gotta go send this off and pick the clubhouse mail up.'' he tells her holding the envelope up between his fingers. ''Remember?''

''I bet he's tellin' one of his aunts a buncha lies-'' she reaches for it and he turns it away, stepping back and motioning her on towards the store with his chin. 

''Go on.'' he tells her. Sadie furrows her brows and he raises his shoulders. ''You were the one that wanted to get out.''

Arthur heads down the sidewalk towards the post office where he drops Pearson's letter off and picks the clubhouse packages up, careful with the large one on the bottom. He brings it back to the truck, setting it all in the backseat and locking the vehicle up to find Sadie inside. 

''Mr.Morgan.'' Jeff, the oldtimer running the store, greets him as he steps inside. ''Your friend brought us the list. I didn't see your usual request for cigarettes.''

He shakes his head, leaning against the counter as he removes his sunglasses. 

''Nah, not today at least.''

''You tryin' to quit finally?'' the other asks, shutting his cash register as Arthur wavers his head. 

''Tryin'. It don't mean that I'm succeedin'.''

Jeff breathes out a laugh. 

''Sometimes, the best you can do is try.''

''My friend, where can I find her?''

''Oh, she left and went next door.''

''Into the clothing store?''

The man nods. 

''That's right.'' Arthur pushes himself off the counter, thanking him. ''We'll bring the things out to the truck for you.''

''Thank you.'' he tells him, heading back for the door. 

''And Mr. Morgan?'' he stops, halfway out. ''Quittin', its a difficult process so... Good for you.''

He nods, giving a small smile before he steps out. 

Sadie meets him halfway, now dressed in pants that looked to be a size too big and a shirt that fell in a baggy fashion around her torso. Arthur itches for a cigarette where he stands beside the truck, watching her trudge back with new boots on her feet, the young employee from the store wheeling a cart of their bags out for them. 

Arthur helps the kid load the bags into the bed of the truck, paying him and letting him go on his way as Sadie gives the youngest a sneer as he passes. 

''Would you quit?'' he asks, slamming the door shut. 

Sadie pulls the keys off of him, heading for the driver's door. 

''He was a real ass when I walked into that store.'' she tells him as Arthur walks around to the passenger's side and climbs in.

''I guess that justifies everythin' then, huh?''

''Oh hush.''

He leans against the door of the truck as Sadie reverses them out and maneuvers from the parking lot. 

''D'ya get everythin'?'' he asks her.

''I think so.''

''And some new clothes, I see.''

''Shut up. I can wear what I damn well please.''

He grins, looking out the windshield as Sadie cuts across three lanes of traffic to get into the turning lane she wanted. 

''I told you, my husband and I? We shared everything.''

''You look the part now.'' Arthur rolls his head away from the window, stretching his legs out in the footwell. ''Soon you'll be drinking all our beer and playin' the harmonica.''

''I'll have you know that I used to love playin it. Before... Well... My house and everythin' I loved got burned to the ground.''

''I know. And I'm sorry-for everythin'. Maybe I'll keep an eye out for one while I'm out for you... See if I can't get one somewhere.''

''I ain't lookin' for pity. Just treat me equal and know; no-one's taking  _nothin'_ from me  _ever again._ ''

Arthur hums. 

''Just don't kill our cook. Please. He's the only one who can make a decent tri tip and that's the only thing our gang agrees on as a whole.''

She follows the signs and roads to the freeway where she sits further forward and presses both hands firmly to the wheel, utterly concentrated but showing some happiness to be given the freedom for something so simple as driving the gang's truck.

Arthur lets out a breath of relief when they get back on the surface streets, stopping some miles away from the clubhouse where two bikes pull up on either side of them. They aren't Van Der Linde's, but they aren't O'Driscoll's, either. 

They're dirt-bikes with mud still heavily caked on the side, scrawny looking men sitting on their seats. 

One knocks on Arthur's window and he glances out, the tip of his finger pressing the button fastened in the door to allow the window to whirl down. 

''What're you folks up to?'' the man asks. Sadie shifts beside him, Arthur feeling her tense from his seat. 

''Not much...'' Arthur tells him, lowering his voice to speak to Sadie, his eyes unmoving from the man's reflective helmet. ''Keep it cool.''

''You know you're in our territory.'' the man says. '' _Lemoyne_  territory.''

''Are we?'' he asks, looking out the window towards the bus yard across from a dry pond before he turns his eyes back to the other man. 

''Yeah. You gotta pay a fine or get outta here.''

''No, I don't think we do.''

''You don't think so?''

Arthur shakes his head, pulling the gun magazine he had pushed into his pocket earlier out and setting it in the cup holder. He uses the toe of his boot to open the glovebox, moving slowly. 

''Pull over!'' the man orders. The lights flick to green and Sadie pushes the gas pedal, the gun and papers in the glovebox falling out into Arthur's lap. He grips the sides of his seat, Sadie reaching for the gun now in his lap and shoving the magazine into it. 

She's rolled down her window and is already prepared to fire before it only clicks on her, the woman leaning back in, eyes raising to the road. 

''You got a faulty gun?!'' she asks. 

Arthur begins desperately reaching for his seatbelt, pulling it across his chest and clicking it shut. 

''It's the safety.'' he tells her, pulling his own gun from his belt and cocking it. She huffs, turning it off as she drags the truck around a tight corner. Arthur hears, and smells, the tires squeal, both of them being thrashed side to side before another dirt-bike cuts them off. 

Sadie doesn't slow down.

''Hey-'' Arthur begins reaching for the steering wheel. ''-Sadie!''

''I'm mowin' this fucker down!''

''Sadie!'' 

The dirt-biker rides out of the way, the wide front end of the truck clipping his back tire last second and forcing him into a spin before Sadie takes the road back around the block, directing them away from their point of attack. 

She brings them back out on the main road where she almost rear ends another truck driver, horns honking at them as she steers them dangerously through the traffic. Arthur looks in his rear-view mirror in time to watch two bikers hit the same car. One goes through the back window and the other flips over the hood and lands back on the road, their knee facing the wrong direction. 

''Well...'' he breaths out raggedly, spotting Sadie still clutching the gun in her hand. ''There's the action you wanted.''

''I ain't got to the shootin' yet!'' she announces. Arthur reaches for the gun in her grip and pries it away, dropping it in the pocket on his door. 

''And you ain't goin' to, not today.''

''I can shoot just as well as any of you.''

''I'm sure you can-'' Arthur tells her. ''-but you don't need to start a shootout in the middle of a neighborhood just to prove yourself.''

-

He's filling his journal for the first time in weeks as he glances to Jack who's trying to put a short string of tinsel up on Miss Grimshaw's office doorknob, attempting to tie a knot as Tilly had shown him how to do with the flowers. His mother intercepts him, explaining quickly why he shouldn't be doing that as she tries prying the gold tinsel from the black doorknob without alarming Grimshaw as to who was at her door playing with the doorknob. 

Arthur finishes writing his story on what happened in Las Vegas and closes his journal, pushing it inside his bag with his pencil following as Jack rips the tinsel from his mother's hand and decides to pout in the corner with it instead. 

Abigail drops her shoulders, looking to Arthur who shrugs as she approaches the table and sits with him. 

''He doesn't understand why we can't decorate for Christmas.'' she tells him, both watching Jack undo the knot in the tinsel with his small hands. ''He keeps on askin' and I keep tryin' to explain that we don't have decorations other than that bit of tinsel.''

''I'm sure old Dutch won't mind something,'' he stretches, feeling something in his back release its tension. ''Especially if its for a little boy like Jack. He thinks of him like his grandson, he ain't gonna get angry if the boy asks nicely.''

Abigail turns her attention fully to the older adult. 

''I meant at our apartment, Arthur. John won't do decorations, he says we don't need to worry ourselves with it.''

''If he won't do it at home, then do it here anyways.'' Abigail shakes her head, leaning back in the booth as Arthur leans forward. ''He's just bein' stubborn John.''

''Stubborn John won't make room for  _us_ , Arthur.''

He's about to apologize before he spots Jack in the corner of his vision approaching Dutch's office door with the tinsel grasped in his hands. Arthur turns his head in time to see him raising it to the doorknob and wrapping it around it, Abigail standing quickly to try and keep the boy from bothering the president of the club. 

Jack pulls the tinsel down hard on the doorknob as Abigail reaches his shoulder, reaching for the tinsel again as she steers him away. The wooden door opens partially and Jack stares up with Abigail in unison, Dutch staring back before he pulls it open fully and looks to the tinsel newly decorating his door. 

''Did you do that Jack?'' he asks. 

The boy nods, stepping back into his mother's skirt. 

''It looks pretty nice there, don't it, Hosea?'' Arthur sees the other man stir inside of the office before he gives Jack an affirmation on his decorating skills. 

Dutch reaches for the boy and Jack lifts his arms, letting uncle Dutch pick him up and rest him against his hip. Abigail steps back, clasping her hands together in front of herself as the older man points to the tinsel. 

''Do you have any more of that?'' he asks Jack. Jack shakes his head.

''We don't have any more. Momma said.''

''Well that's too bad.'' Dutch looks to Abigail with a warm look in his eyes. ''Maybe we should get more and decorate the rest of the clubhouse.''

Jack brightens. 

''Can we get a big tree?'' the boy asks, arm resting over Dutch's shoulder as the older man chuckles heartily. 

''Maybe not a big tree, but sure. With lights and tinsel, and little ornaments.''

''Are we going to have a lot of presents? Will Santa come here?''

''Of course Santa will come here! And about presents, we'll have to see how Santa thought you acted this year.'' Jack scratches his cheek as Dutch moves him to his other hip, poking the boy's chest lightly. ''Were you nice to your parents this year?''

Jack nods quickly and Dutch grins. 


	10. California Jobs

Their clubhouse Christmas wasn't a whole lot; they all got gifts for Jack to open, watching him rip them apart in front of a small tree made of tinsel and lights that Strauss brought for the small boy. 

He enjoyed every single one of his presents, having uncle Hosea help him read the new books he'd been brought as their Christmas feast was prepared. None of them were entirely religious, and they surely weren't devout, but they did it to give Jack something. 

And Jack was having the best time. 

He played with the new cars given to him, especially adoring the small motorbike mixed into his presents, playing with the wheel as uncle Hosea taught him the bigger words he wasn't used to reading in his stories, slowly following along and copying. 

The Reverend sobered for the night, leading the diner and allowing them all to dine together on store bought chicken and quickly mixed mash potatoes. They were all gathered around one big table, Dutch happy to watch his gang talk and laugh from the head of the table, dark eyes watching each of them as the night went on. 

-

He's filling his journal, writing across a page in some old crack den in California just outside of San Jose. Dutch went scouting with Micah to clear the place out and now he was dragging his most important there following a feud between two strong families that used San Jose and San Francisco as their battlegrounds.

Arthur describes catching back up to the gang outside of Nevada, finding three bikes missing from the formation and the constant push to get as far from the state as possible only to ride into Montana and speed off onto country roads avoiding a cop roadblock.

He sketches in the scene burned into his memory; the image of watching the front tire of Jenny's bike blow out from a bullet and causing her to fly forward into the opposite side of traffic and crinkling against the windshield of an oncoming car. Arthur had looked over his shoulder momentarily only to see the car rolling into a ditch with Jenny's body and her bike flipping with it.

Arthur doesn't put lots of detail into it, only an outline sketch with some shading of the image he witnessed before shutting the journal and slipping it into his bag. He zips it closed, leaning back on the orange cot set up in the back room of the crack den.

Dutch was driving back from Arizona with Hosea and Bill, leaving Grimshaw in charge back at the clubhouse. Arthur had been surveying San Jose and surrounding towns with Javier, Charles, John, and unfortunately, Micah. Lenny and Sean were riding over with Dutch and Hosea as well.

It was the full army being dragged upstate, Dutch's reasoning being putting some space between them and the feds sniffing around after his clubhouse but Arthur knew that the older man wanted to learn more about this family feud to see what he could get out of it.

He smells cigar smoke before he hears Dutch's booming voice taking command of every man waiting for him, Arthur stepping out of his small back room to watch Sadie carrying sleeping bags inside with Kieran being ordered around by Bill. She raises her eyes to him and smiles wickedly, glad to be included finally and Arthur brings his eyes to the leather jacket resting on her shoulders, barren of patches or the Van Der Linde wolf seal on the back.

Kieran has a thin hoodie on, one of the old ones Dutch held onto for a while that had bleach stains on one side and a hole in the wrist but the O'Driscoll seemed pleased to be there too, included even if he was only being ordered around.

Arthur slides past Charles on the stairs, heading for the truck that Lenny was locking up with Karen as Dutch rounds it on foot, Hosea beside him bringing his 50s deep blue Harley to a purring stop. Dutch greets Arthur as the older man removes his old gold frame sunglasses from his face.

The Road Captain could see the younger Hosea Matthews in the gray-haired man's wrinkled face, the determined fire beginning to glow again.

''I think we should go and see what's so great about that big blue bay everyone's been talking about.'' Dutch tells them both, smiling at Arthur as he takes a step back towards his white chopper motorcycle. 

''I know a route, boys.'' Hosea pushes his sunglasses back on, turning away to ride past Dutch as Arthur hops on his own and follows after the two older men. 

''So your plan-'' Arthur passes a truck, Dutch on the other side before they meet again in the middle. ''-is to get between two families here?''

Dutch nods, red tinted glasses sliding some down his nose. 

''Grey's and Braithwaites, I think.'' he answers, slowing some behind Hosea as the eldest comes to a stop at the railway line, a train stopped on the tracks with a cop van ahead of them. Dutch balances the bike as Arthur comes to stop beside him. ''But I need to know more.''

''You still tryin' to make up for Las Vegas?'' he asks quietly. 

Dutch nods, adjusting the gloves over his palms. 

''We lost too many in that- the cops were a lot faster than I had counted on. You saw what they did to Jenny, there's no doubt that Cornwall will have twice that strength when we hit him again.''

'' _When_  we hit-''

'' **Psst**.''

Both look ahead of them, Hosea tilting his head towards the bars on the side of the van where a few fingers stick out to wave. They slide back in and blue eyes peer out. 

''Josiah?'' Hosea asks. 

Dutch rolls up beside the van and checks the traffic lights before leaning against the side. 

''How'd you get in there?'' the older man asks, Arthur seeing movement in the back windows of the minivan. 

''I seem to have gotten myself into a bit of a bother...'' Trelawny mutters out the bars as Dutch pushes away from the side of the van to look towards the driver's seat. Dutch grins, wheeling forward some. 

''Let's see if we can't sort this out.''

 Dutch rides up to the driver's window and waves inside, Arthur watching the window roll down before the older man begins speaking. 

''How are you today?''

''Fine...'' 

Arthur and Hosea share a glance as Dutch continues chattering on, getting to the part of explaining that Trelawny was nothing but a simple magician he knew and that he was innocent. The bikers at the back watch the van doors open suddenly and four men jump out as the train starts up again. 

''I wouldn't do that if I were you!'' Josiah shouts. 

The sheriff in the van yells something on as his partner runs towards the train that the blond men were climbing and escaping on. 

''Well allow us to help-'' Dutch looks to Arthur who scowls before turning his bike away from the back of the van and stopping beside the officer standing at the tracks. ''Thank you, Arthur. Take that man there with you.''

The officer seats himself on the back of Arthur's bike, gripping the sides of his jacket as he follows the train line, bike growling. 

''Get after those men! And don't lose the train!''

''I wasn't plannin' on it.'' he answers. He watches one escapee help the other up the back of the train, hoisting him on the roof. 

''What's your name, sir?'' the officer asks. 

''Arthur. Arthur Callahan.'' he answers. ''It looks like your boys are gonna make it.''

''No they aren't! See if you get up alongside the train.''

''D'you expect me to hop on it?'' he asks. 

''It'll be slowing down to go through the main part of town.''

''Do you know how to ride a bike?'' 

''I know some.''

Arthur steers the motorcycle up to the side of the train, glancing between the rusty metal ladder on the side and the road in front of him as one man taunts them and gets hit in the head by the pole. He watches him land on the tracks behind the train before ordering the officer on the back of his bike. 

''Grab the handlebars.'' he tells him. The man reaches both arms around him and Arthur smacks the right one out of his way, sending the officer a glare before he raises himself from the seat. He takes in a deep breath to jump onto the ladder, feeling his fingers slip until he grounds his toes into the metal. 

The biker looks back to see the officer scooting himself forward on the seat of his motorcycle before he himself clambers up to chase after the rest. Arthur drops onto the bridge between two carriages, a fist connecting with his jaw and trying to push him off as they brush through city streets with nothing but chain link fences keeping them separated. 

Hands grip his throat, Arthur straining against the other before he brings his knee up into the other's crotch. The man doubles over and he throws him off, watching him collide with the gravel on the side of the tracks. He moves through the cars after the last two, watching them both climb on top of the train once more. 

The moment he reaches the roof again, another runs at him, Arthur tackling him and slamming him into the roof of the train. It's a quick fight before he kicks him off too, hearing him scream as something apparently breaks when he connects with the hard road.

''Go on, Callahan!'' he hears the officer shouting over the engine of his motorbike and the train. 

He drops down to chase the final one through carriage doors, slowing at the final one where the man hits the door with his fist, turning to face Arthur with fuming rage. The man raises his fists as Arthur wipes blood from his cheek, raising his fists as well. 

''I'll ride ahead to try and stop the train!'' the officer shouts before the memorable growl of his motorbike passes. 

The blondie brandishes a knife and tries bringing it across Arthur's chest, the biker stepping back to give a wide berth before the man hops forward again, jabbing it at his stomach and trying for his throat. He blocks one hit and brings his fist up into the other's jaw, watching him stumble back before launching himself forward with the knife raised high. 

He grabs the man's wrist and turns, twirling them both and hoping to break his wrist but instead the other's head connects with the wall and he knocks himself out, dropping the knife and himself to the floor. The train breaks suddenly and Arthur grabs the wall to keep himself from tripping, waiting until it came to a complete stop to open the door. 

His bike growls up to the side as he drags the blondie from the train, dropping him on the ground and climbing down from the carriage afterwards. 

''That was damn good.'' the officer says, offering his hand. ''I'm Archibald. I hadn't had the chance to introduce myself earlier.''

Arthur shakes his hand and lifts his wrist to wife his mouth where the metallic taste of blood flowed thoroughly. 

'' 's fine.'' he tells him, pointing to the unconscious man on the ground. ''What're we doin' with him?''

''I need to call the sheriff.''

''What about his friends?''

''Those were his brothers. The Anderson boys; each of them are inbred assholes but he's the brains, and that's saying a lot.''

The biker chuckles, spitting blood from his mouth and allowing Archibald to call for extra cruisers to round up the other Anderson's. They drag the brains back to the city where they drop him on the floor of the small department. 

Dutch walks out with the sheriff, announcing Arthur and Archibald's arrival and stepping to the side to allow the other man to drag Anderson to his feet. 

''Arthur has a passion for justice, as it so seems.'' he explains. Arthur glances to him, and then to Hosea while the officers cuff Anderson and push him aside. The sheriff nods, thanking Arthur as Archibald takes their criminal inside. ''So could we get our friend there back? I'm sure it was a case of mistaken identity.''

''Sure,'' the other answers, turning to the van and opening the back doors to allow for Trelawny to step out. He drops down and lets the other remove his handcuffs. ''But I don't want anymore trouble from you, you understand?''

Trelawny nods, giving a smile and stepping aside. 

''It was just a big misunderstanding.'' he promises. 

''I hope so. And, thank you,'' the sheriff turns back to the three bikers. ''Each of you. I couldn't let another Anderson escape but you surely saved the day.''

They say their goodbyes as Josiah begins strolling away, rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had dug into the skin. 

''I can't thank you enough-'' he says, sighing and checking the bruising on his skin. Dutch chuckles as they each follow behind. 

''Where have you been?''

''Around.''

''And where are you staying?''

''I got kicked out of the Ritz-Carlton on faulty rumors.'' he explains. ''So now, I'm renting. Ugly caravan in a trailer community just outside of town beside the camp sites. Not many come looking, so it's a good place for me right now.''

They peer around the small town they were in made up of fast food chains and car dealerships. 

''This whole town is stuck in an interminable feud between two families; the sheriff's lot, the Gray's, and Braithwaites.''

''I've heard of them.'' Dutch says.

''They own different sides of the Bay and argue over who gets what and send the gangs in their slums out to fight their petty wars on their behalf. Most of their arguments are over jewels and the garlic fields in Gilroy.''

Arthur laughs. 

''Arthur, Hosea, you two start pokin' around-'' Dutch asks. ''-find out what you can about this.''

''I've missed each of you,'' Josiah states. ''Though it may be short, it felt like such a long time to me. I've been hearing about money on each of your heads. Bounty hunters and cops are talking quite a lot.''

''There's been some type of price on my head for thirteen years.'' Dutch answers. ''This is nothing new. They won't come lookin' here, they think we're still in Arizona.''

''Well they're good bounties.'' Josiah promises. 

''Where did you hear this?'' Hosea asks. 

''Some boys were talking about it at the state line campsite I had been staying on my way back up here-'' he exclaims, continuing his walk towards the end of the road. ''-talk of bars up to five hundred miles in the North and East. Some type of agents-in-training or some such.''

''It's just talk.'' Dutch explains. 

The three stop at the edge of the road as Josiah slows beside the intersection button and presses it, turning to them.

''Stay outta trouble.'' Dutch orders. 

Josiah smiles and bows. 

''Thank you, gentlemen.'' 

They turn away as Josiah begins crossing the road, Hosea and Dutch strolling away while Arthur watches Josiah leave them. 

''These two families...'' Dutch begins. ''I knew there had to be something good. Arthur, begin going around to the Grey's place, see what you can find. Hosea, you with the Braithwaites. The sheriff was talking about their big fancy home, Caliga Hall if you need somewhere to start. Apparently they need more guards and I think a man of your expertise would be the best for them.''

Arthur shakes his head, following the two older men back to their motorcycles in front of the dispatch. 


	11. True Love

The black motorcycle purrs up to the protected gate in front of a straight edge road on the hills of Gilroy, the rider removing his sunglasses as one of the guards steps closer to him.

''Who are you?'' the man asks.

''Arthur Callahan.'' he responds. ''I helped Sheriff Gray and was told to come here if I needed more work.''

The guard nods, stepping back and pressing numbers in on the codebox.

''Go over to the stables where master Beau is. He might be able to give you some work.''

Arthur nods, replacing his sunglasses on his nose and riding into the Gray property. He follows the paved pathway up to the front door of the home where he parks it and looks towards the stables towards a young man, the same young man he'd seen sulking in front of the dispatch in town.

He leaves his helmet on the seat of the bike as he crosses the grass and mud towards the younger man, eyes roaming over the vastness of the vineyards surrounding them.

''You Beau Gray?'' he asks gruffly. The other raises his head, eyes studying the stubble and scarred face as he shuts his journal with a glint of recognition in his eyes.

''I am. You're one of the bikers that helped my uncle.''

''What gave it away?'' he asks, pushing his sunglasses into his jacket pocket as he passes the younger male to reach out and pet the horses beside his head.

''What're you doing here?''

Arthur shrugs, grey eyes following his movements.

''I'm just lookin' for work.''

The other breathes out a laugh, clicking his pen.

''Well, lookin' for something.'' he smiles at Arthur as the older man turns slightly to look at him, hand slowing on the horse's coat. ''Don't worry, your secret's safe with me.''

''What secret?'' he asks, the younger man setting his pen down on the journal beside him.

''I got a secret of my own.''

''Are you secretly normal?''

The younger man steps towards the corner of the stables, looking up.

''Excuse me?''

''Nothin'...''

''Thing is, I don't care if you kill and rob the whole lot of us, or the Braithwaites-''

''I don't wanna kill anyone.'' he says, raising his hands.

''I love her, you know. Penelope.'' the younger man peers around the side of the stables, searching for something. ''But it's so difficult.''

''Well, love tends to be complicated.'' Arthur strolls closer towards the journal dropped on top of the hay bale.

''She's a Braithwaite.'' Beau says, pointing to himself. ''And I'm Beau Gray! Son of Tavish Grey, nephew of Leigh Gray, the sheriff. And grandson of old Murdo Gray.'' he walks back towards the hay bale and Arthur. ''Us Gray's have been so loyal to the State and the hunters of the Braithwaite's for so long now that none of us exactly know why we hate each other so much. Beyond blind loyalty!''

Arthur shakes his head, leaning against the wall as he crosses his arms across his chest.

''And stupidity.'' the boy continues. ''I'm supposed to be loyal to some nonsense while she- she's amazing!''

The older man straightens his back out and drops his arms as the man in front of him practically hops circles around them both.

''She's like a woman from the future. Like tomorrow, if tomorrow turns out fine.''

''Well,'' the biker begins to step away, trying to aim for his motorcycle. ''I'm sorry for your predicament.''

''Would you help?'' he hears the other ask desperately.

He passes him, shaking his head and raising his hands.

''I don't wanna get involved in no gang feuds.''

''Oh please, sir. My uncle and my family might be blind to that symbol you're wearing on your back, but I know who you and your friends are.''

''We're just men lookin' jobs, is all.''

''I'll pay.'' It stops Arthur in his tracks even as he rolls his eyes. ''I've got money. The Gray's always have money, even if the bank is trying to tell us that we're almost bankrupt. No brains, mind you, but money.''

''Well,'' he turns back around. ''In that case...''

Beau hops back to the hay bale and picks his journal up, opening it to drag an envelope out from between the pages, a yellow wax seal showing itself momentarily before the younger man flips it and hands it over.

''I know she loves sittin' out under that gazebo at the edge of the Braithwaite property, close to their own stables.'' Arthur holds his hand out for the envelope. ''They have a big house, like ours, in Gilroy. You can't miss it. Take her this letter, and this bracelet.''

Both are placed in Arthur's hands, the bracelet neatly wrapped.

''Please.''

The biker nods, slipping both of the presents into his jacket pocket as he turns for his motorcycle.

-

Arthur finds the mansion outside of Gilroy, a large white home with grey shingled roofing and a continuous balcony wrapping around the outside. He can only see it from a distance across the green field of grass where horses are being escorted inside of their stables, but he can't see a gazebo.

He parks his bike some distance down the road and leaves his helmet hanging on the handlebar to survey the Braithwaite home and surrounding property. Arthur spends some time counting minutes between the patrols that he can see, the amount of guards doubled here than they were at the Gray's place.

Arthur counts the cameras that he can see from his position, attached to the house and surrounding buildings before his eyes follow a dirt road leading towards the back end of the property where another guard sat.

He rides his motorcycle down the road to the opposing side of the property, spotting the gazebo and finding a quieter way to get the gifts to Penelope on Beau's behalf. Arthur sneaks across the grounds of the Braithwaite's, horses neighing as he passes their stables, capturing the attention of their keeper outside.

The biker shuffles across the floor quickly as the stable keeper steps inside to calm them down, Arthur using the distraction to jog across the grass towards the blonde woman sitting back in her chair with a glass in her hand, sipping her drink and watching the green fields. He steps up on the gazebo, capturing her attention.

''Are you Penelope Braithwaite?'' he asks her. She gives a nod, lowering the glass from her mouth.

''I am.''

''I got a letter for you.'' Arthur reaches his hand in his jacket and shows the envelope, dropping it on the surface of her table as he pulls the bracelet box out and hands it over. ''And a present.''

She giggles, grasping the small box lightly and pulling it from the older gentleman's hand.

''Why thank you. All this, and we don't even know each other!''

He smiles with a light laugh.

''Nah, it ain't from me it's from-''

''Beau!'' she gasps, pressing the letter affectionately to her chest as Arthur leans against the gazebo banister. ''Oh, he is so-''

''Strange?''

''That's one word for it.'' the Braithwaite girl breathes out a laugh as she lowers the gifts from her chest. ''A little strange, but oh so human.'' She sets her gifts down to reach for the handle on the pitcher in front of her, pouring water into the glass beside her own as she continues to speak. ''The rest of our families are stuck in the dark ages or, I don't know... Cave people, I suppose.'' she hands the glass over to Arthur, who takes it gratefully.

He sips it, a piece of ice slipping into his mouth after the water.

''Beau's different, but if they find out... They'll kill him and send me off to live someplace awful like...'' he seats himself across from her. ''Ohio. Have you ever been to Ohio, sir?''

He shakes his head as he swallows his mouthful of water.

''Can't say I have.''

''Well, neither have I. But my uncle has a factory there, he was sort of the black sheep on account of having left.'' she raises her own glass and presses her palms against it. ''But now they tolerate him because he's such a vicious snob.'' the Braithwaite girl breathes in heavily and sighs sharply, shaking her head some. ''Families are... are... They're something else!''

The older man hums a laugh in response, downing the rest of his water.

''Have you got a family, sir?''

''No, not really.'' he answers, standing from his chair and placing the glass back on the tray beside the pitcher. ''At least nothin' like yours.''

The blonde smiles, sipping her glass as the biker steps back.

''Well, they tolerate him because of the money. But me, with ideas above my station they can't stand!''

''That sounds pretty complicated. I... I don't know what to say.''

He begins for the archway in the gazebo as the girl speaks once more.

''Nothin' to say, except for I hope they all rot!'' she responds. Arthur looks to her as she pulls a piece of paper out from beside her. ''Well... I-I don't. Maybe a little bit, but here-'' she stands as well and steps around the table with another letter in her hand. ''-take this to Beau next time you see him, will you?''

Arthur looks over his shoulder for any guards, facing the younger girl and nodding with his hand outstretched.

''Sure.''

She gives a grateful smile and passes the letter on, clasping her hands together.

Arthur drops the letter off for Beau before riding back to their den hidden in the trees of California.

-

''Arthur!'' Dutch stands from beside the sheriff's desk, raising his arms with a large smile plastered across his face. ''We're so glad you could make it.''

He shuts the door behind himself, turning his eyes over to Bill who nods to him.

''Glad I could be here...'' He answers, looking at the state of the drunken sheriff.

''Our friend here was just explaining the town's awful issue with drugs and gangs. Can you believe it?''

Arthur shakes his head as Dutch's arm comes to rest on his shoulder.

''Not really, no.''

''Apparently they have men cutting cocaine in the national park somewhere- that's right, isn't is sheriff?''

The sheriff nods, blubbering over his bottle.

''Bad business...''

''Yes, Mr. Callahan, bad business that he needs taken care of.''

''Don't you have ATF or somethin'?'' he asks.

''No no, Arthur, you don't understand.'' Dutch pokes his chest lightly. ''This man is trying to avoid so many scandals that he simply can't get the ATF's help. So he's asked us- the same men who helped him arrest the suspects he's been chasin' for years- for a helping, charitable hand.''

''We're a charity now, huh?''

''They also make their own alcohol and wine...'' the Gray says. ''Stealin' from our fields for their profit. Disgusting trash hillbillies don't know their place.''

''He's sent Archibald to get a van for escorting our suspects back.'' Dutch tells him. ''And I'm sure he's waiting outside already.''

Dutch pushes Arthur on to the door as Bill hands the sheriff another bottle of beer and follows them outside. Archibald is just then stepping from the van to come inside and get them all.

''I wouldn't recommend riding your motorbikes up there.'' Archibald tells them.

''I'm sure they ain't expectin' the cops to come on the backs of bikes.'' Arthur says.

''No, but opposing gangs is what I meant.''

''Bill and I will ride our motorcycles, followin' you two.'' Dutch resolves. ''Mr. Callahan will join you in the van.''

Archibald asks that the road captain get in as Arthur turns to Dutch and gives a scowl. The older man smiles and heads for their motorcycles with Bill as Arthur begrudgingly sits himself beside the officer and buckles in his seatbelt.

''How are you?'' Archibald asks him as he pulls away from the front entrance of the dispatch.

''Pretty good.''

''And your friend is behaving himself?''

''Oh... Yes I-I think he learned his lesson.''

They continue onwards, the van silent until Archibald hits him lightly on the arm with a couple of papers.

''Would you mind reading those out for me?'' the man asks. Arthur raises his head and grasps the pages, adjusting them right side up. ''I got a bit behind in my last report...''

''Fine...'' he reads it out, bored as Archibald strictly sticks to the forty mile per hour speed limit. He reads out several names and titles, a few state legislator's until the officer stops him.

''There's so much death happenin' lately, it's like we can't stay on top of it!''

Arthur drops the papers on the dashboard, sitting back against his seat.

''The Raiders have been nothing but a nuisance since they step foot in this great state.''

''Raiders?''

''Some dirt-bike gang that rode up from Louisiana and decided to take control here, in the bay area. Ever since they rode in they been workin' with the Braithwaite's, doing shootings, killings, executions and drug deals on that family's behalf. Disgusting, and with no shame! Trash begets trash, my uncle would say. But this just shows what type of family the Braithwaite's are, paying murderers in illegal drugs and alcohol.''

They stop on some back road, Archibald pulling the handbrake back and stepping out of the van with Arthur following. Bill and Dutch stop on the passenger's side and turn their motorcycles off.

''I sure hope your bikes didn't get too much of their attention.'' the officer says, looking at them with worry. ''Most times we storm one of these places they hear the helicopters comin' and run for the trees. And even if we succeed, another just pops up again.''

''Don't you worry, officer.'' Dutch pulls his belt higher as he steps closer. ''My friends and I here are highly trained and will deal with any issue thrown our way.''

Arthur rolls his eyes as Bill grins, the officer simply nodding as he leads them towards the den.

''Now we want them brought in alive and uninjured. Too much brutality and then we'll have another scandal on our hands.''

''How many scandals do you even got?'' Arthur breathes.

''We want this to be over with, for good! We take them down, and that's final.''

They crouch and move forward in the brush, a small building with surrounding fires coming into view. Arthur stays between Bill and the officer, seeing only a couple of men moving through with guns in their hands. Two stand beside one machine, another by himself to the right side. They each have guards some feet away with automatic rifles in their hands.

''See? See? What did I tell you boys... what did I say? I said this place was crawling with vermin, and we just found ourselves the rat par excellence, as they say in Paris. You know, my aunt went to Paris in the 70s-''

''How we gon' handle this?'' Dutch asks.

''Well, the way I see it-''

''Actually-'' Dutch holds his hand up. ''-let my friend here decide. He doesn't have your fine way with words, but he is definitely the man for the job. We'll split up; Bill and Arthur, me and Archibald. You takin' right or left?''

''Left.'' Arthur responds.

Bill steps back handing Arthur a pair of handcuffs that he clips to his belt, Dutch and the officer moving to the right to get their own men.

''Let's stop these filthy degenerates-'' he hears Dutch say. ''The cheek of them...''

''I saw one over by the bridge, pacin'.'' Bill points past Arthur to the figure walking over a footbridge with the rifle in his hands. The man walks up to the bed of a small pick-up truck and clambers in, beginning to count something in the back. ''Me or you?''

''I'll get 'im.'' Arthur whispers back.

He moves around the small pond hoists himself up the bridge, slowing as he approaches the guard with the rifle slung over his shoulder. Arthur stands and grabs the man by his ankles, dragging him back suddenly and hearing his head connect with the bed of the truck so hard it causes the bottles of cheaply and illegally made wine clatter.

He cuffs the man and drags him around the side of the truck, watching Bill cross the footbridge to get the other Raider that had been beside the unsteady wooden shack and machine. Arthur follows him, stopping the man and directing him to go and help Dutch and the officer instead. Bill splits away and the biker sneaks up behind the Raider, grabbing a beer bottle from its case and bashing him over the head with it.

It thuds before breaking, Arthur looking over his shoulder to see Dutch putting another in a chokehold and asphyxiating him until he passed out. Bill throws the handcuffs he'd been carrying over to the other man and Arthur cuffs the second Raider, throwing him over his shoulder and following Dutch and Bill back over the bridge with their own Raiders.

They drop each of them on the ground beside the wine truck as Archibald checks inside the bed, counting the bottles and crates before turning to the men who helped him, Bill standing beside him and lighting a cigarette.

''Why I don't think I can thank you enough-'' he tells them. ''-but their little manufacturing plant needs to go. I got gasoline back in the truck if you three will help me.''

''We will be glad to help you, officer.'' Dutch raises his eyes to Arthur as he steps away to follow Archibald to the van with Bill at his side, both taking gas canisters out of the back to help light the small buildings on fire.

Arthur throws the gasoline around, making sure to douse everything in the circle thoroughly before tossing the can in too.


	12. Raiders

Arthur pulls his matches from his jacket and lights one, tossing it onto the grass and watching it all go up in flames. He turns, one of the barrels exploding and causing a chain reaction that quickly dies down. He hears the other area blowing as well until gunshots ring out and Bill begins yelling for Arthur to back him up.

Immediately he grabs the rifle one of the Raiders dropped and begins running towards the gunfire, cocking it and checking the magazine before sliding to a stop behind a large crate. Pistols, rifles, and machine gun fire sounds in the air as Bill shoots and Arthur follows, both mowing down Raiders. 

''That belongs to the Raiders, you sons of bitches!'' he hears. 

Their bullets connect with barrels of gasoline, and barrels of concentrated, pure alcohol that causes for fiery explosions and Raiders flying through the air. 

''Where the hell did they even come from?'' Bill shouts, firing his gun as he pushes forward. 

Arthur follows the other man's lead, gun raised and eye trained down the sight as he fires at any body that moves. A grouping of barrels near him blows and he feels the heat wash over him as Bill shoots the attacker down. Arthur regains his footing only to hear and engine screaming up the dirt road towards them. 

''Fuck, I think we got more comin'!'' Bill announces. 

A bullet into the ground beside him is enough to confirm his statement, Bill jumping out of the way as Arthur dives behind one of the cabins, firing his last round off into the driver's head and watching it splatter against the back windshield of the truck. 

He hooks the assault rifle over his shoulder as he brandishes his pistol, stocked with ammunition. He shoots the men as they step out, bodies dropping before Bill stands warily from his cover across the cabins. 

''I think that's all of 'em, Arthur.''

Arthur steps from cover, thumb hooked around the belt of the rifle as he and Bill meet in the middle of the road. 

''We best get the hell out of here and get back to Dutch.''

''He's with that officer though.''

''We'll see what type of action we're takin' when we get there, alright?'' he asks, stepping away from the mess of bodies around them. Bill follows him back to the pick-up where Dutch steps out of the trees with the officer. 

''Well done.'' Dutch says. 

''You've gotten a lot done for us.'' Archibald says. ''We've been havin' issues with that gang  _for ages_. Thank you.''

Arthur nods as Dutch turns to the officer to speak.   

''We had a great time helpin' you, but my men and I must get back and return to our lives.''

Archibald reaches the bed of the truck and hooks his fingers under the door to shut it, Dutch laying his hand over the top. 

''Ahh... It seems we failed to destroy the last of the wine.'' he says. Archibald stares up at him, glancing to the bottles and crates organized within. ''Maybe my men and I can go destroy it for you.''

''Well, I usually take it for evidence, or personal consumption. It's sorta part of the job...'' Dutch leans against the bed of the truck as Arthur glances to the bottles, Bill grunting something to one of the men on the ground behind them. ''But... I'd best be gettin' home.''

'' _Of course_.'' Dutch purrs. 

''I'll just take a bottle or two-'' Dutch reaches in and drags a crate out, dropping it in the arms of the officer. ''-and leave you boys the rest as thanks.''

''We are all simply trying to do our part for the greater good.'' the older man answers as he removes his fingers from the handles of the wooden crate. 

Archibald moves the crate under one arm, gripping his pistol in the other as he passes Dutch. 

''You know, my aunt used to say that not all of us would do our part like others.'' he states, Bill and Arthur dragging the suspects up from the mud. ''Especially men like these hillbilly scum, white trailer trash degenerates.'' 

Archibald moves the line of men towards the van as Arthur turns to Dutch, the older man slamming the bed of the truck closed. 

''Finally... finally we have alighted in a town so stupid that even  _we_  are like geniuses.'' Dutch begins laughing and Arthur joins as the older man smacks the back of the truck. ''Bill! Go and get this stuff outta here!''

Bill finishes hot wiring the truck and throws his bike's keys to Arthur.

''Should I stash this somewhere near camp, boss?'' Bill asks. 

''Yes. I'm sure Hosea can find a use for it.''

The truck drives down the country road, turning into the trees and disappearing. 

''Come on,'' Dutch pats his shoulder. ''You ride with me.''

''Okay.''

They swing their legs over the bikes, Arthur getting used to the wide berth of Bill's brown, wide bike with heavy handling and a mean engine. 

''Did you get into a bit of trouble back there, Arthur?'' Dutch asks. 

''Nothin' Bill and I couldn't handle. From the sounds of it, it looked like they were the buyers.''

''Old Archibald didn't ask too many questions, so neither should we.''

''I ain't plannin' to.''

''It was worth the effort though; almost deputized and hiding in plain sight. These lawmen, these two families... I mean I really think we can play this from all sides. This has got Hosea written all over it.''

''This is startin' to sound like the young Dutch again.''

''What do you mean 'young Dutch'? I'm as strong and capable as I have ever been! Here, how about I race you back?''

Arthur holds Bill's bike key in his hand, grinning at the older man. 

''Alright... You're on.''

Dutch revs his bike as Arthur starts Bill's, revving it in return.

''On my mark...'' Dutch leans closer to his wide set handlebars. ''Get set...''

Arthur slides forward on the bike seat and digs his heels into the dirt. 

''Go!''

The younger man comes in roaring first, slowing when he can see the back of the gang's truck. Dutch growls in after him, pulling his bike up beside the large brown one. Arthur grins at the ground, pushing the kickstand down and turning the ignition off as Dutch removes his red sunglasses and sighs. 

''I didn't know you were quite so good...'' the older of the two says. ''At runnin' away, Arthur.''

Arthur stands from the bike as Dutch turns his own bike off and pushes the shining kickstand down. 

''I didn't know old age had slowed you down quite so much.''

Dutch breathes out a laugh as Arthur chuckles, both stepping from the motorcycles. 

''Well, time  _is_  a bastard. When you get to be my age, well, you'll know that better than anything.'' Dutch points to him, gripping the handle of his bike. ''I had fun with you today you're- I was gonna say you're like a son to me.'' Dutch lays a gentle, caring hand on Arthur's shoulder, gripping it and looking him right in the eye. ''But you're more than that.''

Arthur looks to the ground and nods, watching Dutch's boots escape his vision as the hand slides from his shoulder. 

-

''She' bein' dramatic, Hosea.''

''This problem seems to arise every couple of weeks, John. I'm only trying to extend my help.''

Arthur steps over a broken box of Coors light towards Hosea and John's voices, hands pushed into his jacket pockets. 

''Can we discuss this later? Arthur's here...''

''Sure, son.''

Arthur raises his eyes to the two men, watching John bring his cigarette back to his mouth as Hosea leans forward from the bed of the truck they stole from the Raiders, still conveniently filled with bottles of wine. 

''Hey, John.'' he greets

''Arthur.'' the other responds, scooting from the bed of the truck and dropping onto the ground. 

''What're you doin'?'' he asks. 

Hosea gestures to the crates, smile on his face as his eyes turn to Arthur. 

''Selling it back to where it came from!''

''Why?''

''Well I ain't got a market for it. They made it,'' he turns to pick a crate up, John pressing his hand to the bottom of the crate to support it and take it from the older man's grip as he strains to raise it. ''They must have someone to sell it to. Stuff looked kind of lonely out here, so I think we'll cut ourselves a deal.''

John drops the crate in the back and pushes it further in as Hosea walks around to the passenger's side of the pick-up, John shutting the bed and stepping back. 

''You and Dutch was just doin' your duty when you requisitioned it-'' John waves goodbye and begins to step back to the brush towards their den. ''-now I'm doing mine.''

Arthur pulls the tarp over the back of the truck and climbs into the driver's side, Hosea handing him a make-shift key for the hot-wired vehicle. 

''I'll catch you two later.'' John promises. ''Good luck.''

Hosea waves from the window as the younger man pulls the truck out from its hiding spot in the trees, pulling the steering wheel to avoid trees. 

''Dutch asked him to look into something- something to do with the Braithwaite horses, I think. You know where to go?''

''Yeah, I've been there before. So what  _exactly_  are we doin'? This is the wine we took blowin' up the Braithwaite still, right?''

''I think the good citizens taking the trouble to return their stolen goods deserves some type of reward, don't you? And it's time we made a formal introduction, like Dutch told us too. Look, these are two big old country families, run by people who hate each other so much they can't seem to look past it.''

''I know, I've seen it. There's a Gray boy and Braithwaite girl carryin' on a secret affair. I been, well, helpin' 'em.''

''We aren't too far from their mansion. Take it slow up here, I'm sure someone will recognize this truck.''

Arthur follows the hill roads towards the large white mansion, slowing at the gates as a guard raises his hand, palm pressed at the ready on his belt. There are three more, each waiting and watching as the truck comes to a complete stop before them. He rolls the windows down as they walk closer, guns ready on their belts as they peer inside. 

''Hello, gentlemen!'' Hosea greets, giving a kind smile towards each of them as a fourth appears to take a look in the bed of the truck. ''How are you?''

''What's that in the back there?'' one asks, resting his hand on the sill of the driver's side window. 

''Wine, my fine fellow-'' Arthur watches them tear the tarp back in the rear view mirror. ''-may I speak with the man of the house?''

''We don't got a man. She's a lady. Mrs. Catherine Braithwaite.''

''May I have a word with her? I want to discuss a business opportunity. I mean no harm-'' he proceeds to raise his hands. ''-no harm at all! Feel free to shoot me if I do.''

''Alright... Okay. She's at the house.'' the guard turns to the code box and taps the numbers, the gates squeaking open while another climbs into the bed of the truck.

''Thank you, young man.'' Hosea sings. 

''We'll be watchin' you.''

''You heard the man-'' Hosea tells Arthur. ''proceed please, driver.''

Arthur brings the truck through the gate and down the gravel driveway, rounding the fountain-in-construction in the center of the roundabout to pull the truck up in front of the doors. He winds the windows up as Hosea steps from the vehicle, the younger man following as a voice shouts from the open mansion doors. 

''What you want?'' 

He raises his eyes to see a nasty hag of a woman stepping from the doorway, arms crossed and face pulled in an ever lasting sneer. 

''We found somethin'-'' Hosea shuts his door and drags his fingers across the side, hands raised. ''-out in the hills and thought-thought you might be in the market for it.''

''For what?''

''For liquor-'' 

''I ain't in the market for what's already mine!'' she announces. Arthur shuts his own door as she looks down her nose at Hosea. 

''Way we see it, its ours.'' She scoffs, laughing at his words. ''With us possessing it, and I-I checked all over, for the life of me I couldn't see your name on it.''

She rests her hands on her waist as three younger men appear in the doorway, each with their own guns. 

''Whoa...'' Arthur hears Hosea exclaim. ''I ain't here to rob you- though that seems easy enough.'' the older woman laughs again at him. ''Wanna do a deal... What do you sell that stuff for?''

''A couple dollars a bottle.''

''Then give us a dollar.''

''It's already ours!''

''Look on it as a reward, for finding stolen property. Alternative is, we go sell it somewhere else.'' he gestures to the truck behind them. 

''The alternative is-'' Arthur assumes its her eldest that walks around her and raises his rifle some. ''-you get shot.''

''Now, who wants to get shot over a few bottles of liquor?'' Hosea questions, raising his hand to the Braithwaite's. 

The woman grabs the end of the rifle, sounding a quiet laugh and pushing the gun down. 

''Pay the man.''

Her son looks up at her as she pulls the gun from his grip, stepping back with a look of embarrassment before he slips back inside. The younger man appears again with a stack of cash, tossing it to Hosea who catches it and begins counting where he stands at the step. 

''Pleasure doin' business with ya.'' Hosea nods, handing the bills to Arthur who drops them in his bag. ''And, listen, we didn't take it- at least not without orders from-''

''Oh I know  _exactly_  who gave you your orders,'' she jabs a bony finger towards the two bikers. ''Old Sheriff Gray, running for the chief of police. You know what, there's an extra favor you can do for me, and there's fifty, hundred dollars more if you do. Drive the stuff into town, head into the bar  _run_  by Mr. Gray, and give the stuff out  _for free_.''

''Ma!'' her son exclaims. 

''Hush now!'' she looks to him before running her eyes back over Hosea and Arthur. ''I believe they call that a promotional expense.''

Hosea only laughs, nodding and turning back to the truck. 

''As you wish, madame.''

''You boys come back sometimes, tell me how you made it out. Maybe we'll play a little cribbage.'' Arthur watches her shove her son back inside the house as she turns to the doorway, the biker following Hosea into the truck and starting it up. 

They buckle in as Arthur pulls the truck from the driveway, the gate opening for them. 

''Alright,'' Hosea speaks. ''Next stop is the town bar.''

''Here we go...'' the younger man sighs. 

''The cars we sold to that gang, they sold them for an even bigger profit and sent some of the income our way. Another few hundred thousand dollars, and not bad given how hot they were.''

''No, not bad at all.''

''But apparently Cornwall is pumping a lot of cash into the Federal Bureau. He wants to keep their full effort on going after gangs... Gangs like us.''

''Yeah... That don't surprise me.''

He pulls onto the main road and follows it towards the freeway to get into town. 

''Alright... This could get ugly.'' Hosea says. ''And you and Dutch already have that thing going on with the cops... We can't risk you gettin' noticed.''

The older man reveals a hat and glasses with a pipe of sorts. 

''Yeah, Mr. Gray.''

''That's it.'' Hosea pats the hat off. ''And now we're inserting ourselves in their blood feud... We need somethin'.''

''I ain't playin' dress-up.'' Hosea reaches over and removes Arthur's sunglasses anyways as he raises the other pair in his hand. ''You know how I feel about that.''

''I know, of course you're not-you're...'' Hosea pulls the hat onto the younger man's head. ''You're a clown's... Idiot... Brother.''

''Hosea please...'' he mutters, the glasses being slipped onto his nose as he takes the off-ramp into town. 

''I'm the clown, you're the idiot! Just... Look sad and keep quiet, even you can do that, Arthur.'' 

''Do I have to?'' he asks, raising his hand to the ball cap now securely screwed onto his head. 

''Just keep the hat and glasses on, smoke this-'' he raises the pipe end to Arthur's mouth and the younger opens it, biting his teeth over the end. ''-and bring your lip forward. Squint, just a little bit... Oh, perfect.''

The younger man pulls the truck into the back alley behind the bar, stopping it on the opposite side beside the balcony and reversing into the parking spot to drop the crates off. Hosea hops out, pointing him to the crates in the back and picks up two bottles of wine, heading for the owners who were sharing a smoke outside. 

''Grab two cases of that stuff and follow me.'' Hosea tells him, turning to the owners. ''Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Quite a town you have here. We just rode in from up North.''

The owners look to them, Arthur lowering his head to hide his eyes as Hosea brushes past with the bottles gripped firmly in his hands. 

''Hey...''

''Hi.'' the owners state. 

''Hello... I'm Melvin. This is my brother Fenton, don't mind him-don't  _anger_  him. He badly hurt the last person that did that.'' Hosea stops in front of them and lowers the bottles to the ground. ''How would boys like some cash, hm?'' he asks, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out some bills. ''I bet you would-'' he hands the two hundred dollar bills to the men. ''one for each of you's.''

Arthur hoists the crates higher in his arms. 

''We're in the trade of advertising!'' Hosea announces as the men look over the fresh green bills, one raising his to the light to make sure it wasn't counterfeit cash. ''An American art form in ensuring people buy the correct things.''

''I don't know...'' one of the owners says. 

''One hundred more says give us half an hour, see what harm we can do in half an hour.''

He hands two more hundred dollars to the two men and they share a glance before standing from their seats at the back steps. 

''Go along now, enjoy the money! Don't spend it all in one place-'' Hosea grabs the necks of the bottles and raises them, resting them against his hips as the owners leave them in the back alley. ''-and don't come back too soon.'' he mutters. 

Hosea pushes the back door open, Arthur carrying the crate inside. 

''Come on, Fenton. Let's hand out the liquor.''

Arthur sniffs as he follows the older man deeper inside the bar, passing the partially open office door on his way inside. Hosea peers out the doorway into the main area of the bar that was singing with music and humming, Arthur following the turn in the hall towards the entrance to the bar. 

He steps inside and drops the crate on the shelf of the bar as Hosea capture's the bar-goers attention, Arthur finding the bottle opener and attempting to get the top pried off. 


	13. Advertising, the American Art

''Everyone!'' Hosea shouts. ''Everyone!''

The bar turns its attention to the older man yelling at them, conversations dying down and eyes looking over both of the strange men commanding control of the building. 

''My name is Melvin! That's my brother, Fenton-'' he gestures to Arthur who continues to try and pry the cork from the bottle. ''He's a bit funny, but _boy_  can he pour drinks fast. For the next thirty minutes, the drinks in this here bar, in this here town... Are entirely free!''

The bar erupts in cheers. 

''The only rule is you've got to drink 'em fast, so hurry up! Put old Fenton to work!''

He pulls the cork out and the overflowing smell of hard liquor hits his nose, Arthur peering inside to check if it actually contained wine before the bar is suddenly swarmed with bodies wanting alcohol. Arthur begins grabbing glasses and pouring drinks as the radio's volume is raised and the music changes to something with a faster pace. 

''Shit...'' he hears after passing a glass off. ''That's some strong stuff...''

Arthur slides a glass away from him and grabs another few bottles, prying the corks out and hearing Hosea lightly order him around when he can hear him over the loud conversation and even louder guitar riff sounding from the speakers strewn around the building. 

It's much longer than thirty minutes when people begin staggering to the bar for more, or staggering out of the bar to puke on the road. More arrive, drinking themselves into blackout as Hosea hands the bottles and crates off to those willing outside beside the truck. A group in the corner links arms and begins singing off tune to an eighties song that Arthur hadn't heard in years, reminding him of a drunken fest he had with Lenny somewhere in Utah. 

He spots Hosea's carefully combed gray hair through the crowd when he raises his eyes from the focus of glasses and alcohol bottles, emptying more bottles. 

People are on the tables, Hosea is getting them drunker and convincing those leaving the bar to take some bottles while the same group from earlier begins dancing, though it equates slamming their feet into the floor as hard and loudly as possible instead. He hears Hosea laughing, a happy laughter that makes him sound like he's having a great time with this. 

Arthur spots him on the stairs leading to the second floor as the older man continues shouting. 

''Drink up!'' the doors slam open, the bar stopping. ''Drink...''

Raiders walk in with rage in their eyes as they look around the building, drunkards climbing off of the tables. 

''It's the Raiders...'' someone mutters, a couple instantly running out of the back door as Arthur slowly wraps his fingers around the neck of the bottle beside his hand. 

''Good evening, gentlemen.'' Hosea tells them, leaning against the wooden stair banister with his foot folded over his ankle. ''Quiet libation?''

He pushes off of the banister and pushes his heel into the edge of the stair, waving a cigar around. 

'' _You_.'' the bigger, rougher looking Raider announces. 

''Me?''

''You're the bastards who stole the liquor we was gonna buy!'' the man raises his finger angrily. 

''Gentlemen!'' Hosea acts offended, pressing his hand to his chest and causing his cigar butt to drop ash onto the wooden step beside his toe. ''We're in advertising. Come on in, have a drink!''

''That's our goddamn liquor-''

''An honest mistake-''

''Boys, get 'em!''

Arthur throws the bottle, watching it shatter against the lead Raider's face as Hosea books it up the staircase to the second level. Arthur pulls his gun from his belt and glances over the bar, a shot glass next to his head exploding and raining small specks of shards over his hat and onto his shoulders. He stands suddenly and fires, hitting the final two beside the door and raising his gun to the Raider on the stairs who lifts a shotgun up to him. 

He hits the man in the hand and hoists himself over the stair banister, breaking the man's nose with the butt of his gun and leaving him to cry on the steps. He follows Hosea upstairs, hearing the man calling for him to help. 

A Raider shoves the balcony door open and Arthur shoulders him back out, watching him break the balcony banister before he steers himself to Hosea. Another Raider raises his gun and Arthur shoots him, glancing as the body drops onto the floor heavily. 

''Good job,'' Hosea tells him. ''Come on, this way.''

They ignore the people downstairs screaming to rush outside, the back doors opening and two men with rifles aiming them. 

Arthur shoots them both and Hosea scoops one of the rifles up as he steps over the bodies onto the porch. The younger man jogs after Hosea, a Raider rushing up the steps and grabbing Hosea around the waist, throwing them both off of the porch. Arthur runs to the banister and looks down, watching the older man fire the gun into the Raider's throat before kicking him off. 

''Come on, Fenton!'' he shouts. 

He hops over the banister into the now empty truck bed, landing harshly and rolling into the tire cover. Hose is already climbing into the driver's seat while Arthur regains his stance and finds his way into the passenger seat. 

''They're in that truck!'' he hears. 

The older man drags the truck out from the back alleyway, hearing the tires scream against the pavement as Arthur grips his seatbelt and pulls it across his chest. 

''I'm gettin' us outta here.'' Hosea promises. 

Arthur peers out the back windshield to see multiple dirt bike headlights flicking on, his eyes raising to the turn in the road to see a pair coming for them. 

''They're not goin' to let this go, are they?'' he asks. Hosea hands the rifle to the younger man who pushes the barrel out the window and aims for the front tires of the bikes. He shoots wildly but causes the front tires to blow out, the men toppling over each other in a large crash. 

''To the left, Arthur!''

He leans over Hosea to shoot out the window, hitting the Raiders and watching them fall to the ground and grate themselves on the asphalt. A truck similar to the one they stole drives out from between two buildings, quickly picking up speed. Arthur turns back in his seat, watching as Hosea drives directly for the blinking railroad signs. 

''Hosea...'' he says. ''Hosea the Amtrak.''

''I see it.''

''Hosea!''

''I said I see it!''

They crash through the barrier and fly over the tracks onto the other side of the road, Arthur hearing a loud crash close to an explosion behind them as the train hits the truck that was chasing them instead. 

Arthur looks out the window to see the train desperately trying to stop, dragging the crushed remains of a Ram pick-up with it.

''To the right!'' Hosea announces. Bullets lodge in the doors as the Raider's continue to rapidly fire, Arthur sticking the gun out of the window and shooting back in return. One crashes and the other falls back as a bullet hits him, the rage of the Raider's pushed down for now.

''Jesus...'' Arthur says, Hosea rolling the windows back up again. He drops the rifle between his legs and wipes his chin of sweat. ''All this over a few bottles of booze?''

''I reckon it's more that they don't want another gang on their patch.'' the older man answers, steering the truck from the main road as the younger points. 

Hosea pulls the truck up on the shore and slows, pulling their makeshift key from the ignition. 

''Alright.'' he states, handing the key off to Arthur. ''We're good.''

''Remind me to never take up a career in advertising. Or bartendin'.'' 

The older man chuckles as the two step out of the truck, Arthur handing his bag off so Hosea could count the cash that the Braithwaite's gave them. 

''Do you think that woman set us up?'' he asks. 

Hosea slings the bag over his shoulder to count the cash in his hands.

''No, I don't think so.'' he raises his eyes to Arthur. ''Maybe. This place is... Odd.''

''Yeah... I keep seein' those fellers. Mrs. Adler and I met a few back round in Arizona, too.''

''A small American militia still too wrapped up in the civil war even though it ended more than a hundred years ago. Clearly not too happy to have some new competition.'' He sticks the cash back in the bag and allows Arthur to take it. ''I'll go visit old ma Braithwaite, see what's up.''

''Why?''

''We've been making money!'' Hosea gestures. ''Dutch is filling the savings account up again, slowly, but surely. Part of me thinks we just get back to the clubhouse, keep pushing the drugs through from Mexico, continue collecting cash, turning over small stores across the country. Fixing vehicles, now that's where a lot of our money comes in but Dutch seems to think that everything we need is here in California now.''

Arthur hooks his thumb around the strap of his bag. 

''Another part of me thinks that I'm getting too old for this. That  _Dutch_  is getting too old for this.''

''Nah,'' the younger man shakes his head, pushing the hair from his face. ''Dutch don't know nothin' but this life, Hosea. He ain't ever gonna retire from bein' president. It's got his name on it.''

''I know.'' they walk with each other away from the truck. ''Dutch wants to go out with a bang, not retiring somewhere soft in the countryside with a German Shepherd and a few animals to take care of.''

''That sounds more like your dream.''

Hosea nods, looking off distantly and losing his focus as Arthur hears splashing behind them. He turns his head to see the pick up slowly driving itself into the water.

''Don't mind that.'' Hosea tells him. ''I left the brake off for that reason. It'll sink itself. And yes, it is my dream. It was Bessie and I's dream for a long time but... I came back to the gang.''

''It weren't the same without you there.''

''I'm just happy none of you got shot out there. Dutch may be a good leader, but damn, if I ain't most of that boy's impulse control.'' Arthur breathes out a laugh, sticking his free hand in his pocket. ''But for now,'' the older man steers them back to the topic. ''Let me go and visit Mrs. Braithwaite and see if I can't get some more work for us.''

-

He's pulling at dirty blond hair in front of the mirror in the crack den bathroom, letting it drop back against his face with a sigh. He desperately needs a haircut, but it seems that going into town could cause a problem if he was recognized by a Raider. Arthur pulls at the beard on his face and decides to shave, using the very small mirror to cautiously bring the razor to his throat. 

''Hey, Arthur.'' its Javier, trying to push his way inside to use the toilet in the corner. Arthur lifts the blade from his throat.

''You know that don't work, right?''

Javier kicks the brim, disgusting water on the inside quivering. 

''I don't like pissin' outside.'' Javier tells him, Arthur returning to shaving and using water from his bottle to clean the blade of shaving cream. ''Bill's already pissed a circle around this place, so at least no animals will try and kills us in our sleep.''

The older man snorts, carefully bringing the blade back to his skin to shave the hair away. 

''I saw you pullin' at your hair. Do you need a barber, friend?''

''Why?'' Arthur asks. ''D'you know how to cut hair?''

''Sure, brother.  _Mi madre_  was the best hair stylist back in our hometown. She cut all our hair and taught me how to cut some of my relative's hair too.''

''I'm sure your  _madre_  was a great woman, but I ain't too sure how much I trust you with anythin' sharp near my head.'' Arthur washes the blade off again and shaves away the final pathway of foam from his face, running his hand over his clean face. 

''Oh come on, Arthur.'' Javier takes the razor from his hand and sets it down. ''Let me help you out. That's what friends do.''

''You ain't ever called me your friend before.''

''I wasn't too sure how you felt about me, brother.''

Arthur clasps his hand on Javier's shoulder. 

''I trust you with my life, Javier. You keep the laws with me in this gang when the rest seem to forget them. You're a solid shot and great to ride with. But- unless you're using an electric razor- I ain't trustin' you with scissors.''

''Ah, that's not fair!'' Arthur steps from the small bathroom, hearing Javier's boots following him on the creaking floor. ''You know I'm steady with a knife, why would scissors be any different?''

Javier talks him into allowing him to cut his hair, doing it on the back steps of their hide out with a towel on his shoulders and a tarp underneath them both. Arthur is frozen in place even though Javier is, for the most part, gentle and careful with the other man's hair. He only pulls or pushes it aside too hard a few times, followed with steady snipping that causes the hair to cascade onto Arthur's shoulders and to the tarp as well. 

Charles finds entertainment in watching them both, sharpening one of his knives as Javier finishes up and steps back. 

'' _Yo hacer bueno_.'' Javier states as Arthur stands. The other man lets him check over his hair and Arthur thanks him. ''Payment?''

''Payment?''

''I cut your hair, brother. And you're one irritating man to please.''

Arthur rolls his eyes but he pays Javier for his troubles. 

''Alright, now fuck off.'' he says. 

Javier laughs and punches Arthur lightly in the shoulder as the older man cleans up the hair. 


	14. Mistakes and Magicians for Sport

He's watching smoke leave his mouth beside a tree when Uncle decides to bother him for work. 

''Arthur!'' he rolls his eyes to him and drags on his cigarette again but slowly. 

''What?'' he barks. 

''Don't be rude. I'm tryin' to interest you in a money makin' opportunity!''

''A job? Organized by you?'' he asks, snorting and tapping ash from his cigarette. ''You'll get me killed.''

''It could work!''

''You don't ever do anythin' but complain.''

''Well-well I got a bad life threatenin' disease!''

''Yes, you are a compulsive liar.'' Arthur shoots back. 

''I bring the great gift of information, and this is how you repay me!'' 

''Find some other fool to run your errand, I don't want no part of it.'' he tells him, lifting his cigarette back to his mouth. 

''Charles! Bill!'' Uncle waves them other and the two approach, greeting Arthur and the older man beside him. ''Will you two be my fools?''

'' _What_  are you talkin' about?'' Bill asks. 

''Arthur's above a little stick-up action I had planned.''

Arthur raises his eyes. 

''No I'm not.''

''You just said-''

''Hey, I'll do it, as long as you ride with us.'' Arthur gestures to the two other men, swinging his arm back around to drag on his smoke. 

''I can't... I got a serious medical condition.''

''And I told you, you are a compulsive liar!'' 

''No need to be like that.'' Uncle scolds, lifting his eyes and his hand to Charles. ''Charles, have I ever lied to you?''

''I hardly know you.'' the other man responds. 

''Exactly,'' Charles glances to Arthur who shakes his head. ''Now you boys should do this, its easy. And I'll only take a small commission for my information. But its now or never.''

''Then I guess its never.'' Arthur puts his cigarette out under his boot and hears Uncle grumble. 

''Fine, I'll do it!''

He turns away from them, headed towards the bundle of motorcycles parked together. The three follow him, Arthur pulling the zip on his chest up higher. 

''Well what is it?''

''A payroll entrusted in a few businessmen to carry it between two points, briefly unguarded apparently as it passes through crossroads near here. It's beside an old run down school before it connects back with its guards. Easy pickings.''

''As long as we get paid or you get shot, I'm happy.'' Arthur states, walking around the older man to get onto his personal motorcycle. 

They follow Uncle to the location, a four way stop beside the freeway opposite an old school where they park their bikes beneath the underpass and wait for the car to show. It comes around sometime before three in the afternoon, rolling to a stop at the stop sign where they jump it. 

Bill drags one of the men out and Charles puts himself in the back seat, directing the driver where to go with a pistol pressed to the side of his head. Arthur allows Bill to drag the other away from the car and behind the old school building as Uncle watches from a distance, still sitting under the overpass. 

''Bill!'' Arthur shouts, seeing the guard truck rolling down the road towards the four way stop after it realizes it hadn't connected back with their convoy. Bill peeks out and directs them over, Arthur forcing Uncle to help him get the motorcycles hidden. 

''I work for Leviticus Cornwall-'' the man spits, Arthur turning his eyes to him as Bill smashes his fist into his cheek. He grabs Bill's wrist and stops him.

''Calm down, Williamson.'' he orders. 

The bearded man rips his arm away and uses rope to gag the man, leaving him tied beside the dumpster between the buildings to hop on his motorcycle. When Arthur is sure the convoy is gone, he directs the other two to ride off, climbing on his own bike and following the road to follow Charles and the car. 

''Completely uneventful!'' Bill is shouting at Uncle when Arthur gets back with an exhausted Charles who leans his whole weight on him from the back of his motorcycle. He drags him off and supports him towards the den where Sadie comes to his other side, pulling Charles' arm around her shoulders. 

''Here.'' Charles grounds out, dropping the bag on the ground. ''All fifteen dollars.'' 

Uncle crouches to pick it up, huffing as he straightens his back and pulls the bills out. 

Sadie helps Arthur seat Charles down on the steps and check the head wound he suffered trying to get away from the guards. 

''What happened?'' Bill asks. 

''The convoy was Cornwall guards.'' Charles answers, taking a water from Lenny as he hands it off to him. ''You idiot.''

''Now-now I didn't know!'' Uncle argues, Arthur ripping the bag from his grip and checking inside. He evenly distributes the cash, shoving the older man away. ''I can't be blamed for this!''

''You can!'' Arthur shouts in return. ''Charles almost lost his life because of your stupid idea! How did you not know that we were goin' to be attackin' Cornwall again?''

''I guess I could've checked...''

The road captain throws the bag to Bill who rolls it up and turns away. 

''At least we made  _some_  money.'' Uncle states. 

'' _Shut up_.'' someone begs. 

''Are you alright, Charles?'' Arthur asks him. The larger man nods, lowering the pack of ice from his head.

''I'll be fine. It isn't as bad as my hand was.''

The older man finds the space to chuckle lightly. 

''Christ, Arthur, if you were there...'' Charles presses the ice back against his forehead. ''One moment I was directing the guy on where to go and the next I was being swarmed with SUV's and men with guns in protective armor. If you didn't cause that distraction when you did-''

''Let's not think 'bout that, Charles.'' Arthur tells him, sitting beside him on the steps with a loud sigh. ''Cornwall, he's got more money than God at this point and Dutch seems to think it's a good idea to have that man share that cash with us. Just be glad that you ain't dead and that they're still tryin' to figure out who hit 'em.''

''All for fifteen dollars...'' The older man rubs Charles' shoulder. 

''Uncle's an idiot, but he had good intentions. Now you go and rest yourself,'' he pushes himself to stand once more, helping Charles up after him. ''No doubt Dutch is probably plannin' or organizin' something for us each to do.''

''Thank you, again.'' Charles grips his hand, shaking it before following the steps up to the doorway. 

''And Charles-'' the other man turns to him. ''-I'm glad you're okay.''

-

''Arthur! Arthur.'' 

He drops his hand from running over the close shave Javier did to the side of his head, raising his eyes to the sound of Dutch's voice as the older man steps out from the middle room of the den. The president received the more personal space as his place to plan, think, and rest easy, the room giving him each of those as the rest slept in areas around the den. 

''What now? You sweatin' yet, Dutch?''

'' 'course I am.'' the older man responds, stepping away from the doorway of his room. ''We're hidden in the hills of the bay between two shit hole towns.''

Arthur laughs. 

''I meant about what Trelawny said about those detectives he met.''

''Well, not sweatin' as such, but maybe some gentle perspiration.'' Dutch walks to Arthur and brushes past him, leading him to the exit of the dark den. ''Until we know more, there ain't too much harm wasting good liquor on sweating.''

''So?''

''So, I think you should pay our good friend Trelawny a visit out at his caravan he said he was rentin'. See what he found out from those detectives that were so eager to get the cash for my head. Find out _exactly_  what he knows and  _who_  he spoke to.''

They stop a couple dozen feet from Charles and Dutch points. 

''Take Mr. Smith with you.'' he breathes out a laugh. ''Oh, the sight of you two would make a statue sing out its secrets.''

The younger man nods and Dutch splits away, heading off to give someone else orders as Arthur approaches Charles. 

''How you feelin'?'' he asks him. 

Charles looks up from his seat on a tree stump. 

''Like we're hiding in a forest.'' the other man responds. ''But my injuries, they're fine. It wasn't anything too serious.''

Arthur nods. 

''That's good. I need you for some business in town, then. Come on.''

''Okay.'' Charles grounds out, picking his gun up from his side and pushing it into his belt as he follows the older man towards their motorbikes. ''Where are we goin'?''

''Dutch wants us to a.... have a talk. With Trelawny. About these detectives and bounty hunters who're comin' for us. Hopin' he can tell us who they are, or where they're comin' from.''

''Okay...'' Charles pulls his gloves on as Arthur seats himself on his motorbike. ''And you're officers now?''

''Not quite. Some volunteers helpin' the local law enforcement.''

''Usually you're bribing local law enforcement into silence.''

Arthur shrugs, fingers wrapping around the handlebars. 

''They usually listen. Soon we laid eyes on that fool that thinks he'll make a great police chief, I knew Dutch was gonna play 'im like a fiddle.'' he lets out a small laugh. 

''Running from one bunch of law, working for the other. Interesting.''

''Dutch calls it 'hiding in plain sight'. It's been goin' well so far.''

Charles only hums, swinging his leg over his own bike. 

''Spirits seem to be raising here, with us working so much harder and so far from home. I heard Dutch talking on the phone with Molly- everyone there seems to be doing fine too.''

''Yeah... Sometimes its better for Dutch to get away from headquarters, if that makes sense.'' Arthur glances over his shoulder in the direction he'd last seen the president walk off to. ''He lets Grimshaw and Molly breathe and that lets Strauss and Abigail breathe a little bit easier too.''

''What does Molly do, anyways?''

''She stands there and looks pretty so Dutch can have a nice decoration on 'is arm.''

They start their bikes up and Arthur leads them from their small camp towards the trailer park at the end of town. It shares land with a camping area beside the more scenic spots, allowing for greater revenue to come in from both tourists and campers, and the rent from the trailer-goers.

Arthur pulls his motorcycle into the park first, eyes glancing over the more basic, older models of the RV's as Charles follows behind him. 

''Dutch put a lot of space between us and that mess in Las Vegas.'' Charles says over the rumble of their engines, pulling his bike up beside the older man's. 

''And I ain't seen any feds sniffin' 'round, either.'' Arthur answers. ''There's these small-town detectives of course, but Dutch don't seem too worried about it.''

''I can't believe there's so many people still coming after us. We didn't even get away with the money!''

''They don't know that.'' Arthur answers. 

''Trelawny... I've only met him a couple of times but he's... he's a strange one.''

''Don't worry. He's just a cockroach in fancy clothes. But he gets into nooks and crannies the rest of us can't. We just need to find him before he scurries off again.'' He raises his eyes the trailer in the back corner of the park, painted a dark color with plants in the windowsill and a greeting mat in front of the door. ''I think it's just up here.''

They pull to a stop some distance from the front door, Arthur stepping away from his bike and approaching the caravan's wide open door. 

''I reckon it's this one, with all that flair.'' he says. 

''Then let's take a look.'' Charles says. 

Arthur takes one step inside and sees the rest of Trelawny's plants broken on the ground. His mattress has been pulled from its place on the RV and his cabinets are opened. There's a spatter of blood that leads to a door on the side of the vehicle, a trail to follow. 

He steps carefully over the mess of bagged food and canned goods on the ground, his boot squashing some spilled peaches as he hears Charles step into the doorway. 

''Shit...'' he mutters. ''This don't look so good.''

''Someone got here first.'' Charles steps further into the RV, Arthur reaching for a letter on the counter of the small kitchen. ''And by the looks of things, it wasn't a social call.''

''I see.'' his eyes read over the letter addressed to Tacitus Kilgore, their fake alias to have their mail delivered. It was Kilgore mining, oil mining, and it was left untouched on the surface of the table. Arthur folds it and hides it in his coat pocket. ''Check the place.''

''What do you think?'' 

Arthur turns to the table pressed against the window underneath the open cabinets, a bowl left behind and a spoon resting in the orange stew within. A cup of something is left beside it with a spoon stained with the liquid resting on the table. Arthur checks the temperature of it with the backs of his fingers. 

''This food's barely touched, and its getting cold. It seems like he left in a hurry and whoever was tryin' to find him caught on quick.'' he turns his eyes towards the mattress. ''Looks like they thought he was hidin' under it-'' he spots Trelawny's pajamas hung up on a hanger on the bathroom door. ''-he must have been here recently.''

Charles moves carefully through the RV, stepping over the puddle of blood on the floor towards the overturned mattress. They both look through the open window at the head of the bed, spotting a trail running from the RV. 

They follow the blood outside, both peering around the side towards the trail running into the trees. 

''They must have taken him that way.'' Charles grounds out. ''Recently, I'd say. Not more than... twelve hours ago?''

''But no body?''

''Not yet.'' 

They reach the edge of the trail, Arthur spotting fresh bootprints pressed into the dirt with two lines dug into the mud between them. 

''We can track 'em.'' Arthur says, pointing to the dirt. ''They went down this pathway.''

''Lead the way, then.''

Arthur leads them down the trail, following the shoe prints and long dragging marks deeper into the trees. He subconsciously closes his jacket around himself as they push further into the shade of the forest, eyes on the dirt. 

''This ain't the type of place I'd expect to see Trelawny in...'' he mutters. 

''No?''

''He normally scams himself into the best place in town.''

''I heard that when he came to visit in Arizona he talked about staying at the Ritz-Carlton.''

''That's right. I doubt he's really got the money to stay in a place like that, but he buries himself in.''

''His arrest in town, that might be way he's staying at the caravan park.''

''Could be... Or maybe these cops went around lookin' for him there, too.''


	15. Cockroach in Fancy Clothes

''When you were out workin' and Trelawny was at the clubhouse for those few hours-'' Charles states. ''-the man talked the whole time, and never actually said a damn thing.''

''I thought you knew,'' Arthur turns his eyes over the now third pair of shoe-prints before they vanish into the dragging marks again. ''That's his special talent. And anyways, these cops could be hundreds of miles away by now if they took Trelawny somewhere for information.''

''We would still be able to find him.'' Charles promises. ''It just depends on how much you  _want to_.''

Arthur scoffs. 

''I ain't too sure 'bout that just now.''

Their tracks lead them to a small clearing in the trees that overlooks the crops below, the forest breaking off and giving room to the fields and the freeway. 

''This seems too obvious.'' Charles tells him quietly. ''Everyone can see us from the freeway.''

''They wouldn't be able to at night.'' Arthur responds, two men looking up to them as they come up from the trees. 

''Who are you?'' one demands, standing from his sleeping bag. 

''Excuse me.'' Arthur holds his hands out at his sides, eyes roaming over both of the men. ''Have you seen err... we're... we're lookin' for our friend.'' the man walks closer to them both, eyeing Charles and circling him as the other steps closer. 

''I don't think he's here...'' he says and smiles, stepping closer to Arthur in front of the trees. 

''You ain't seen a strange sort of feller? Sort of formal?'' 

He hears the sticks beside him snap and Charles steps closer to the two men's small camp. 

''Strange? Sure. Formal? No.''

''He uses a cane,'' Charles scoops the walking stick up from the ground, both men tensing beside them. ''And it looks a lot like this one.''

Arthur narrows his eyes, directing his glare towards the man in front of him. 

''Alright you two... Where the hell is he!?'' he demands.

One jumps forth and shoves Charles, Arthur taking a step back as the other swings his fist for his jaw. 

''You both better get outta here!'' the blond man says. 

A punch lands on his cheek and he lifts his arms to block the fist from slamming into the side of his skull. He lifts his arm and plants his knuckles into the other's stomach, raising his fist into the eye next before hooking his punch into the side of the man's head. He falls onto the ground with a thump, causing a cloud of dust to surround him as Arthur turns to help Charles. 

Charles throws the other man into a tree and they both hear his head connect with it, the man dropping onto the ground, gripping his skull before Charles kicks him down and presses his boot into his chest. 

''You stay there!'' Charles orders. 

Arthur pulls the ID of he man he knocked unconscious from his pocket and goes through it, taking his cards and leaving his cash. He breaks the cards and throws the remainder away, into the bushes before coming to Charles side. 

''You want this one?'' Charles asks him. 

''Yeah,'' Arthur nods. ''Give 'im to me.''

The larger man removes his boot from the other's chest and Arthur grabs him by the collar, lifting him from the dirt. 

'' _Where_...'' he raises his fist. ''Is Trelawny?''

''I don't know anything!''

He smacks him across the face. 

''You tell me where he is!''

''You go to hell!''

''Tell me now, you son of a bitch, or I'll make damn sure that you regret not openin' that mouth of yours!''

''Okay... okay, for Christ's sake. They took him to a house, out by Mount Diablo... Close to the Braithwaite property.''

He gets an exact location before Arthur knocks him unconscious too and steps back. 

''Mount Diablo... We need to ride there. How far do you reckon that is from where we are?'' 

''A good distance. I'm not sure we'll be able to exactly sneak up on them, not with the engine on your bike.''

''I ain't plannin' on sneaking.''

Charles follows him back to the bikes and then onto the road towards Mount Diablo. They illegally cut through traffic a multitude of times, Arthur taking a one way road at one point simply to hurry the journey along. 

They slow down once they reach the homes near Mount Diablo. 

''What do you think they want with Trelawny?'' Charles asks. 

''It could be a whole number of things.'' Arthur checks the distance between the homes, how much noise they could make and where they could possibly hide as they grow closer to the location. ''It just depends on if any of 'em involve us.''

''Do you think he'll talk?''

''Of course he'll talk. He'd sell his own sister to save a plane ticket. He don't know how  _not_  to talk! But, he don't know where we're holed up, though. At least I don't think he does...''

''I don't know why Dutch still does business with him. He's always disappearing for weeks on end.''

''He's got his uses and, well, loyalty matters to Dutch.''

''Right... But is Trelawny loyal?''

''Eh, kind of. I suppose Trelawny ain't technically  _disloyal_ , he's just got a big mouth. Don't worry, if he talked, I'll goddamn find out what he said.'' They slow when they get closer to the road where the house was located. ''I mean, nothing's ever straightforward where he's involved. I've learned that much.''

''How much time have we spent getting him out of trouble?''

''He manages to be both lucky and unlucky at the same time.''

''That's one way of lookin' at it.''

''But he always finds a way to pay us back. Whether thats with actual cash, or a tip-off we can use in the future. Usually when we're startin' to think of cuttin' him loose he'll bring us something big. That's his talent, keeping fish on the line.''

Charles stops them at the edge of the road, pushing his kickstand down. 

''We'll be better off approaching slowly.'' he tells the older man. ''We can't risk making a lot of noise just to get Trelawny out of there.''

Arthur nods, pushing his gun in his belt. 

''But if they shoot first, we're shootin' back.'' 

''Of course.'' Charles nods. 

They follow the sidewalk to the home, Mount Diablo standing tall to their right. The two of them reach the edge of the property line and the door bursts open, men dragging a bleeding and bruised Trelawny out by his arms and his collar. 

''Let's get you out of here!'' one exclaims. ''Come on, boy!''

''Thing is,'' the other responds. ''After that caravan, this'll be remembered as a good time!''

They turn, eyes raising as Charles and Arthur bring their guns up to them both. 

''Put the man down, gentlemen.'' Arthur orders. 

One lets go of Trelawny and instantly runs for the trees, the other staring a moment longer before letting go of the Brit as well, following his friend. Charles runs forth to Trelawny, cutting the zip-tie binding his wrists before rushing off after the two men. 

''You're still alive then.'' Arthur says, crouching beside the man and beginning to get the zip-ties around his ankles off. 

''Allegedly.'' the man responds, grunting. ''Let me do this, go after them.''

Arthur stands and drops his knife with Trelawny, running after Charles and the two other men into the trees. He sees them rushing up the hill, the dirty blond following after as he pulls his gun from his belt. 

They instantly run into the brush to hide, Arthur going after one and Charles the other. He sprints, tackling one to the ground and pressing the barrel of his gun into the back of his head before pulling the trigger. It's a mess, but the body is hidden for the most part and the man won't have a chance of talking to anyone about his ordeal. 

He hears a scuffle back the way he came and rushes back to help the other man, finding Charles throwing the officer off of him. He raises his gun and presses it into the man's stomach, pulling the trigger and watching his stomach burst with the bullet. The man drops in pain and Charles catches him, by the head, quickly snapping his neck and allowing him to drop the ground. 

Arthur turns, looking up to Charles. 

''We got one more.'' he tells him. 

Birds squawk and take their attention away, both looking to the sky to see them rising from the bushes. 

''Follow the birds.'' Charles says. 

He does so, following the birds and the movement of leaves and brush until it stops suddenly and leaves them with a dead end. 

''I see something over here.'' the other man announces. ''It's his gear. He can't have gone far without it.''

Arthur winds back to the larger man and looks to the amount of gear on the ground before they begin searching in a tight circle, his palm clasping the grip of his gun tightly. He goes the opposite direction than Charles, quietly moving through the brush and looking around his surroundings for prints or a sign of the man they were following. 

He spots a footprint pressed deep in the dirt and approaches it, about to shout for Charles when something thin blurs past his vision and then wraps around his throat, dragging him to the ground. Arthur tries wrapping his fingers around the metal cord, feeling it peel the skin at his fingers and cut into his throat around his adam's apple as the air begins to get pulled from his lungs. 

His boots kick into the ground and the dirt around him, trying to make as much noise and as much of a scene as possible to get Charles' attention but it was beginning to become futile when his lungs began to scream and his neck began to bleed. Charles steps from the brush, beginning to raise his gun when Arthur's attacker raises his own. 

''He's mine!'' he shouts. ''He's mine... you go, you get out of here. I only want him.''

Charles lowers his gun to the ground and raises his hands above his head as Arthur continues to kick, but they began to grow weaker as he lost more air from his lungs. 

''You... have my friend.'' the larger man tells him. 

''He's not your friend.'' the man says, pulling the cord around Arthur's throat tighter. The gun leaves the blur in Arthur's vision. ''I'll give you money...''

''Oh be quiet.'' 

Charles throws something and the cord around the older man's throat goes slack, Arthur gasping for air and coughing, hands reaching for his neck. He rolls onto his side, ripping the cord from around his collar and throwing it onto the dirt, locket dirtied with the splatter of blood. 

He pushes himself to kneel, feeling Charles hand support him. 

''Come on...'' the other man tells him. 

''You... You should have taken the money.'' he says and swallows thickly. 

''I know.'' Charles hands his pistol back to him. ''I'm a fool.''

Arthur wraps his fingers around it and drops his hands. 

'' _Shit_... Thank you.'' he says. 

The thanks is short lived, a bullet hitting the dirt in front of them. Charles is quick to raise his gun, faster than Arthur who is still trying to regain his head, and he fires. Arthur joins, both shooting the man down before Arthur runs after the sixth who is receding back into a small shack-like building to hide. 

Arthur rushes him, tackling him to the ground and pressing the barrel of his gun to his jaw before pulling the trigger, spraying blood and brains across the floor. 

''That should be the last of them.'' Charles says from outside. ''We should get back to Trelawny and make sure he's alright.''

''Fine. Let's go back for him.''

He leaves the shack and follows Charles back to the home. 

''It never goes easy, does it?'' Charles asks. 

''Nah... But this is a walk in the park compared to what we get up against.''

''I've heard.''

Arthur smiles, tenderly pressing fingers against the wound on his throat as he shouts for the third man. 

''Trelawny! Where are you?''

''Over here, dear boy!'' The voice leads them to the side of the porch where Josiah is resting against the wall, exhausted and tired eyes raising to the two men. ''And I do have an  _awful_  headache.''

''You okay?'' Arthur asks. 

''Fantastic... Never finer...'' the biker grabs Trelawny and pulls him to stand, the darker haired man leaning against him for support. 

''So, who was they?'' he digs for information. Charles begins to step closer to help and Arthur motions him on. 

''Modern day bounty hunters, of a sort, attached to a man called _Cole Stoudemire_. They weren't looking for me, per se-'' Arthur helps him down the steps, leading him across the field towards their motorbikes. 

''What you tell 'em?''

''Not much I... told them I was an intellectual come down here from Oregon looking for a job at one of the fine universities dotted around this area.'' Charles presses his helmet onto Trelawny's head and fastens the clip under his chin once they reach the bikes. 

''And they believed you?''

''Of course not.'' Trelawny presses his palm against the smooth surface of the helmet, the tips of his fingers just barely brushing over a long scratch down the middle. ''It seems you stirred up quite a mess in Nevada.''

''So I keep hearin'.'' Arthur walks around to his bike as Charles helps Trelawny sit on his own black and grey striped one. 

''It might be best if I stay with you gentlemen for a while...'' he says, breath hitching in pain. ''I can't go back to that trailer now.''

''Alright Charles, you take Trelawny back to camp. I'll catch up to you in a while.''

''Okay.'' Charles starts his bike and rides the two of them away, Arthur taking the road opposite.

-

_There always seems to be more. More and more running, more homes and towns popping up everywhere. I want to get back to the open country, get back to what's left of the west and the ranches. But even that ain't the way I remember it._


	16. Preaching Friends as He Went

Arthur gets back from chaperoning a supplies run with Kieran when Josiah pulls him aside. It's a few days after he and Charles saved him and Josiah had been spending most of his time contacting old friends and going through his lists of numbers to get some sort of lead to give them in return for saving his skin. 

''Do you have a moment, Arthur?'' Trelawny asks. 

He shrugs, shoving the bag into Kieran's chest as he passes by. 

''Why?''

''Well I know you think I'm just some effete buffoon...''

''A what?''

''A man of words and not of action, hardly a man at all.'' 

Arthur only shrugs again. 

''Well I think you're as slippery as an eel in an oil slick, but still a man.''

''Because I think I've-I've found something interesting.''

''Yeah?''

''A singer, an awful one, more of a woman calling herself a singer but she carries with her in the trunk of her limousine her payments from her jobs. Perhaps she does not get paid often, but she gets paid quite a lot. Her jewelry is also in the box, she wears it on stage to give that entertaining shine.''

'' _And?_ ''

''And she's leaving San Francisco today for Los Angeles to sing at some penthouse party for the overly rich. She'll be taking the road through Oakland due to a sudden cancelled flight. I met her when I was at the Ritz; she's a blast but I would recommend wearing earplugs when we go.''

''Are you sure she's got money on her?''

''Yes, I am!'' Josiah steps back, gesturing to the bikes. ''But we've got to get somewhere first.''

''Do I wanna know why?''

''Well I can't be seen riding around on the back of some rough biker's motorcycle, now can I? Especially not one with a wound like that.'' Josiah motions to the other's throat, Arthur pressing his fingers against the wound where the cord dug into his skin. 

Josiah climbs onto the back of Arthur's motorcycle and gives him directions to a  _Vespa_  dealership. Arthur rolls his eyes and stops his bike, allowing the other to step off and rush inside the building. He sees him shake hands with someone inside before he's taken to the back, Josiah and a pale blue Vespa coming around the back of the building to side with Arthur minutes later. 

Trelawny has goggles and a rounded helmet on, the man grinning at the road captain.

''This is your idea of blendin' in?'' Arthur asks. 

''Well you all have your motorcycles, and though they're wonderful to listen to I truly can't be seen in public riding one under my own person ownership. Now come along,'' Josiah begins to wheel away from Arthur. ''We've got to intercept her car before she gets onto the freeway.''

''Is she stayin' at the Ritz?'' he asks the other, keeping a good distance of space between he and the Vespa. 

''She was.'' Josiah balances the Vespa out when he hits the gas pedal too hard by accident. ''She'll be somewhere on Bush street, no doubt blocking traffic and managing to complain about it too. I think you should hang back, at least behind a few cars.''

''And no-one's gonna notice me pryin' her trunk open and stealin' her suitcases?''

''I meant that she'll be coming from Bush street by this time, crossing the bridge, and trying to take the 80 onto the 580 before-''

''Where are we doin' it, Trelawny?''

''When they're stopped in Oakland, just outside of it. I trust you're able to get things open with  _some_ finesse.''

''Finesse?'' Arthur asks and smiles. 

''Yes, dear boy. The trunk will raise suddenly and you will have moments to unlock her cases and get the money out. There's a high chance that one of them will notice if you're not careful.''

''Then I'll make sure to take my time.''

''But not too much time.'' Josiah raises a finger, clasping his hand over the handlebar when he momentarily loses control of his scooter. ''She knows me well. And she isn't one to shy away from giving a show!''

Josiah waves him off when they're close to the limousine before cutting through traffic to nonchalantly pull up beside it, glancing over and then acting surprised. Arthur stays a few cars behind, as he promised, and watches as Josiah knocks on the window and then gets scolded by the man in the passenger's seat. 

They exchange a few words before the limo door opens and a woman peers out, Josiah taking her hand carefully in his and kissing her fingers. He watches from a distance before the woman points to the off ramp and Josiah nods, reversing out of their way and looking up to Arthur from behind his tinted goggles. 

It's a struggle, but the limo gets through the traffic to get off of the freeway, Arthur following Josiah who follows the limousine towards a parking spot on the side of the road. He pulls away suddenly and instead parks behind the seven eleven a few shops away from the limo where Josiah pulls up beside and helps the lady out. 

''Mrs. Chester Damsen...'' Arthur listens to Josiah flatter her and boost her morale before peering around the building. She's busy staring lovingly at the brit as her driver and guard share a bag of food while they lean against the hood. 

He casually crosses the parking lot and drops low next to the car behind the limo, following the doors towards the hood where he pushes himself between and begins jimmying the lock of the trunk. It pops open and Arthur grabs it before it can make any noticeable appearance, the man reaching inside and undoing the lock on the cases. He pulls the money out and stashes it in his jacket as the woman screams-or sings- for Josiah. 

Arthur shuts the cases after retrieving some of her jewelry and then lowers the door of the trunk, watching the woman and Josiah and waiting for a good moment to properly shut it. She takes a deep breath in and lets out an ear splitting high note, Arthur slamming it shut and quickly moving back behind the car once more, casually leaving them behind with the money and the jewelry weighing heavily in his coat. 

''Why thank you-oh-'' Josiah kisses her hand again. ''It has truly been an honor, madame.''

He listens to her giggle with him before Josiah says his goodbyes and wheels his Vespa back to the other man. 

''Did you get it?'' he asks. He pats his pocket where the money sits. ''And you didn't even shoot anyone, good job.''

'' _Shut up_.'' 

Josiah holds his hand out, Arthur pulling the cash from his pocket and giving the other man his share. 

''But thank you, and well done sir!''

''You did all the work.'' he says counting the cash out and setting it in Trelawny's palm. The other man counts it, raising his eyebrows and letting out a low whistle. 

'' _Jolly fucking good_...'' he mutters and Arthur cracks a grin before depositing the rest of his money into his coat once more. ''Team work, my dear boy, team work.'' Josiah pushes the money into his pocket and adjusts his helmet under his arm. ''I made it easy, but you're the one who got the money.''

''And thank you, you half-wit.'' 

Josiah smiles, both walking back towards their vehicles. 

''You know, I heard about what you boys did to Colm. Taking his score out from under him as well as one of his men? The cash you made off of that seems... Indescribable for a gang like you. It's enough to put Dutch, Hosea, and every senior member of the gang into retirement once and for all, but you all keep working.''

''Dutch likes to keep things goin'.''

''Ah. I thought he was going to pay the money on his head off once and for all. Lord above knows how much that might be.''

''The government's paychecks in one.''

Josiah breathes out a laugh and sits back on his little scooter, pushing his helmet back onto his head. 

''You know, Arthur, you and your gang has made a good name for itself on the bottom half of the States. I'm shocked that you're all still going. Las Vegas was-''

''A mess, I know. Dutch knows too. I imagine he's just tryin' to make up for what happened there by gettin' us more money, makin' us feel safer.''

''Do you feel safe so far from home, Arthur?''

''We've been further from Ehrensburg before. This ain't nothin' knew.''

The other man clips the strap of his helmet before lifting his goggles from his neck to wind them around his helmet. 

''Yes, you made a mess in Montana too, didn't you? Colm O'Driscoll's home. Quite a distance to go to run from the cops.''

''I'm just glad he didn't get us up into Canada.''

Josiah smiles and pats his goggles, wrapping his fingers around the handlebars of his Vespa. 

''Thank you, Arthur. I'm sure I'll see you around.''

He steers away, leaving the biker alone in the seven eleven parking lot. 

-

Arthur is enjoying some actually vitamins in his food when Lenny approaches him, asking about his day, telling him what's new, but never actually making the effort to sit down with him. 

''Whats wrong, kid?'' the older man asks him, wiping his hands with a napkin. ''You're actin' like you got ants in your pants.''

''I was wondering if you were up to anythin'.''

''Just chasin' after some blood money that Dutch and Hosea seem to think is hidden somewhere 'round here. Why?''

''Cause I got something. It could be good.''

Arthur purses his lips for a moment and Lenny sits across from him quickly, leaning over the broken bench table. 

''Yeah?''

''Yeah. I was in town, talkin' to some folk and they were sayin' something about a gang of fools holed up in some old manor house in the hills, just east of here. Some small militia that came up here from Louisiana or somethin' that are still livin' their ancestors dreams of the war some hundred or so years on.'' 

''Those are the Raiders. And I wouldn't recommend tryin' to hit 'em. We took some of their booze and they weren't too damn happy about that.''

''These ignorant fools are weapon dealers. And in their dealings, sometimes sit on a decent pile of cash. They've been moving and selling weapons to Cuba and South America for years. They even move weapons down to Mexico and sometimes to Alaska. They've been doin' this for years!'' Arthur crumples his napkin and drops it in his food bag. ''Anyway, the men I was talkin' to reckon there might be a whole lump of cash just sitting around! And failing that, a nice stash of weapons...''

Arthur thinks over it. 

''With just a bunch of crazies guardin' it?''

'' _Exactly_.'' 

He grins, standing. 

''Well, worth takin' a look at least.'' Lenny stands quickly. ''Isn't it?''

''That was my thinkin'.'' the younger man smiles, radiating confidence. ''It's off deep in the hills somewhere so they won't be bothered by no cops.''

''Okay,'' Arthur hits him lightly on the arm and Lenny hops over the bench, Arthur following him to their motorbikes. 

They pass Sadie curled over a phone, the light on the screen giving away Abigail's worried face before the blond woman turns away from the two men, allowing them to continue going. Lenny walks quickly, excited as Arthur follows behind him. They swing their legs over their motorbikes and Arthur follows the younger man away from camp and towards the hills. 

''You know, I heard that Mrs. Adler kicked ass back home!'' Lenny shouts. 

''She handled herself, yeah. But that don't mean she did it in a very sane way.''

''You just about soiled yourself, didn't you?''

''You haven't seen her when she's properly angry.''

''I heard her screamin' at Pearson back home. Damn, I imagine that old fat man sure is happy that she isn't there right now.''

Arthur laughs. 

''I'm sure they're  _both_  happy that she isn't in that kitchen with him.''

It's another twenty minute ride until Lenny pulls off from the main road and follows gravel through the hills. 

''There's supposed to be an old burned house here before the manor. You get there and there should be a road leadin' us to it.''

''You sure?''

Lenny nods, slowing in front of a burnt foundation. Arthur stops behind him, watching the younger man surveying their surroundings before he begins to circle it on his bike.

''I mean, I  _was_ sure.''

Arthur helps in his search for any tire marks that weren't there own, or footprints, but they end up with nothing. Lenny stops beside him sadly until the growl of a truck's engine passes them, the brown paint reflecting the light at them. 

''That could be them.'' Lenny says. 

''Let's follow at a distance.''

Lenny leads again, the two men following at a good distance and watching the truck pull off the road onto a split, both of them stopping and watching it go down a rigid straight road towards the manor in the distance. 

''That must be the place...'' the younger man says. Arthur convinces him to leave their bikes in the trees closer to the road so they could sneak up and get a closer look. 

''What's your plan?'' Arthur asks him. 

''Uhm...'' Lenny's dark eyes skim over their surroundings before he points to the split wall where a gate used to be installed. ''You hide on one side, I got the other.''

They take their respected sides and Arthur looks down the sight of his gun towards the men. They're gathered in separate groups around their camp, each dressed in different versions of their military clothes as they eat, talk, or guard together. A patrol can be seen walking from the back of the manor, heading for the front door as Arthur notices a powerful submachine gun on the top balcony. 

''You see anything?''

''Yeah...'' Arthur answers. ''A whole lotta angry men with guns. They're ready if someone was gonna attack them.''

''What do you say we do?''

''This ain't my plan.''

Lenny sighs, Arthur lifting his head from the sight of the gun to look at him. 

''Alright either... You cause a distraction, or I do.''

''What type of distraction?''

''Walkin' out there. Maybe.''

Arthur drops his shoulders and Lenny swallows. 

''They got boxes of somethin' down there, somethin' with a big warning label on the side that would probably explode if I planted a bullet in it.''

''No, we can't risk blowing up  _everything_.'' Lenny tells him. 

The older man peers down the sight of his gun again, looking through towards the men and raising it to the top balcony. 

''You ready to shoot?'' he asks. 

He hears the gun cock. 

''Yeah.''

Arthur fires and watches the head of the man blow before they both rush forward into the camp. It felt like a death wish, but soon they were both running on adrenaline. He feels safe with the younger man at his side, protecting his back and firing at anyone that got too close. Arthur was more than happy to extend it back to him, dragging him down as submachine gun fire tore through the grounds around them. 

Lenny runs down ahead of him suddenly as Arthur is looking through the sights and soon he doesn't have cover anymore. He drops the gun and lifts his pistol, firing it and shooting the men down before blowing the shoulder out of the man pinning Lenny to the ground in an attempt to choke him. 

He drags the younger man back up and pushes his gun into his hand, grabbing the rifle off of his shoulder and shoving him into cover before they pick-up firing again. Lenny spits blood from his mouth from beside him and soon they only have a few men around the side to deal with. One tries rushing them and Arthur stands, grabbing him around the stomach and slamming him into the ground to hit him with the end of his gun. It isn't enough to knock the man out, and friendly fire is what kills him until Lenny shoots the rest of the attackers down. 

Arthur pushes the body on top of him off before standing suddenly, adrenaline pumping his veins and causing his pulse to beat loudly in his skull. He looks to Lenny, finding the man toeing at the men around them carefully before he crosses the dirt towards the truck that had pulled in earlier. 

The older man rolls his shoulder as Lenny hops into the bed of the truck happily but it is soon extinguished, the younger man stepping aside to show an empty bed with a simple blue tarp curled in the corner. 

''You've got to be kidding me.'' Lenny announces. 

''It's alright.'' Arthur promises, pointing towards the other trucks in the compound. One is without its back wheels and the other looks a bit more promising. ''We'll check these and then get the hell out of here. I'm sure that at least one of their men heard that gunfire and will come searchin' soon.''

Lenny jumps out of the bed of the truck as Arthur climbs into the other, sighing heavily before he pulls the tarp back and gestures to the bright red boxes of grenades and weapons. 

''See?'' he asks. ''It paid off.''

The younger man jumps in with him and pushes the boxes and crates open, whistling as they reveal an endless amount of rifles, ammunition, and very imposing grenades. 

''They really are their own militia...'' Lenny mutters. ''Why're they workin' out of the bay area though?'' he looks to Arthur who shrugs.

''Why do we work out of Arizona?'' he asks. 

Lenny shrugs, lifting one of the rifles out of the case with the look of awe that kids had on Christmas when they ripped their presents open.

''Shit, Arthur...'' he says. ''Look at this.''

The older man is busy pushing the crates of grenades further away from himself, putting some distance between he and the imposing warning pasted on the side. 

''You did real good, Lenny.'' he tells him. ''Put it back in and we'll get this truck back to Dutch. We gotta find something to get our bikes in. I'm sure the other truck'll do just fine.''

Lenny helps him use a makeshift ramp to ride their bikes into the back of before they fasten them down. 

''Which truck you want, Arthur?'' the younger man asks. 

''I think I'll let you drive that one-'' he points to the weapons truck. ''-I ain't too sure that I want to have any of that close to me.''

''But what if the cops stop me, Arthur?''

He presses his tongue against the back of his teeth before giving in, letting Lenny take the motorbike truck as he climbs into the weapons truck. He finds the keys in the cupholder and Lenny calls him, the older man placing the phone on his lap as Lenny sings happily about a successful mission done and begins leading them out of the compound. 


	17. Horse Flesh for Forgiveness

Lenny brakes suddenly at the end of the road and Arthur can feel his heart dropping and stomach flipping when he too must brake like hell behind him. He hears the boxes hit the back of the truck and he shuts his eyes for a moment until Lenny's voice crackles in on the other line. 

''Arthur... We got company.''

He peers around the trucks towards the dirt-bikes now surrounding Lenny's truck, eyes curious and watching their every move.

''Roll your window down, let them talk. I'll do the same.'' he says. He rolls his window down as Lenny does and listens to him try and negotiate with them. 

''You don't look like the type of men we'd do business with...'' one Raider says. 

''What kinda men do you usually expect to come and buy weapons?'' Arthur asks. 

They turn their attention to him instead. 

''You look familiar...'' the same Raider says. ''Maybe we have done business with you before but not with the likes of  _him_.''

''I'm just tryin' to make an honest dollar.'' Lenny responds. 

''I ain't too sure that's the truth.'' Arthur's hand is resting gently against the but of his gun as he watches the Raider get closer to Lenny. ''Why don't you get out?''

''This truck? Comf-''

''Ours.'' the man growls. 

He sees the men around them begin to reach for their guns and one pulls it from the holster, finger close to the trigger when Arthur sticks his gun out of the window and shoots him in the shoulder. Lenny begins firing too, racing from the road as they both shoot wildly, mainly wanting to keep them at bay. 

They're followed through the forest roads before Lenny bashes one with his truck and Arthur finishes him, only afterwards remembering the highly explosive containers they now had. Arthur leads them back to their camp, capturing attention when they drop off weapons and explosives, everyone surrounding them. 

'' _Shit_.'' Javier lifts one of the rifles out of the case, looking over it as Lenny smacks Micah's hand as he tries reaching for one of the grenades. Dutch is looking at the youngest man appreciatively as he tests the weight of one of the guns himself and hands it off to Hosea who seems to expertly dismantle the gun in seconds and check the inside. 

''These are in great condition.'' Hosea says, pushing the pieces back together and cocking it before raising it to the air. ''You got the ammo too, right?''

''Right here.'' Lenny opens the box behind him and lifts one of the ammunition containers.

''Great job, son.'' Dutch tells him. Lenny smiles under the proud look emitting from the president of the club.

-

His black motorcycle is being rode towards the Gray gates slowly, Arthur stopping and asking after John and Javier who were sent ahead of him to finally meet the head of the family, an angry old man running on the fumes of his rage towards the Braithwaites even though he didn't have anymore of a clue as to why he was angry at them anymore than the rest of his family.

He's directed to the Gray stables, Arthur following the dirt road past the grapevines and pulling up between John and Javier's bikes. He sees them talking with the legendary old Gray, John rolling his eyes and turning away as Javier seemingly takes over trying to convince him of something. 

''You don't know me...'' he hears the Gray speak when he turns the engine of his bike off, removing his helmet and pushing it onto the seat of his bike. ''You turn up in this town, you're helping everybody. And everywhere, there's troubles. Who are you?''

Arthur approaches the two men, John shaking his hand and Javier greeting him. 

''We're just men trying to help.'' John says. ''And have you met my friend, Arthur Morgan?''

''No.''

''I met your son, the sheriff.''

''Okay...''

Arthur hooks his thumbs in his belt. 

''Mr. Gray here was sayin' how he had problems with another family.'' John explains, eyes on Arthur as the older man looks to him. ''A family of degenerates.''

''Oh, well, nobody likes degenerates-'' he looks back at the older man. 

''That hag and her inbred sons...'' the Gray says. ''They ruined this county, killed my uncle but tried covering it up.''

''And that ain't right.'' John states. 

''The problem is, we can't be seen to gettin' too close.''

''And?''

The older man slides from his seat, standing. 

''And we've got gold.  _Gold_. Made of real Scottish worth.''

''I'm Scottish too.'' John explains. 

''We're Scots ourselves.'' Gray seems to have a better approach to John as he speaks. 

''And the Braithwaites?''

''Goddamn peasants of the modern time.'' he spits, turning away from the three of them. Arthur and Javier share a glance past John as the older man continues blabbering insults until the older biker cuts him off. 

''How much gold?''

''Enough. These are prized animals I'm talking about. They'll get you a good few thousand, easy. Sell them to the right people, and you'll get millions.''

It sparks an interest in the three of them, each orbiting closer to the older man. 

''Millions?'' John asks, scoffing. 

''It's true.'' the oldest man argues. 

''Where would we sell them, these million dollar horses?'' Arthur questions. 

''You can't sell them here for millions, not in this state. There's a boat that leaves San Jose, they'll take 'em and get the money back to you once they're properly sold off.''

''How much it cost to get 'em on the boat?''

''It's free of charge, as long as you get them the horses.  _Healthy_  horses at that.''

''And how we supposed to be doin' this?'' John asks. 

''The Braithwaites, they have those expensive horse trucks. Luxury type of thing for the animals that they take all over the country when shows are on, or they just want to show off, make deals. You can find them parked somewhere near their homes, I imagine in the big barn that they haven't used in decades, unless you count inbreeding.''

John nods and accepts the Gray's order, the three of them wandering back to their bikes and climbing on before growling out of the Gray property. 

''What a crazy old fool.'' John says. 

''You should meet the Braithwaite woman.'' Arthur tells him. 

''Weren't Hosea and Sean planning on going over to the Braithwaites?'' Javier asks. ''Do you think they're there?''

''If they are, they better keep their heads down.'' the oldest says. ''This doesn't need to be anymore complicated than it already is.''

''A few million?'' he hears John questioning. ''For  _horses_?''

''They run high prices nowadays.'' Javier answers. ''Especially if they're well-bred.''

''The only thing in that family that's well-bred are those animals.'' Arthur interjects. 

John snorts but continues. 

''It seems like we've been robbin' the wrong folk all these years.''

''That old man don't know what he's talkin' about...'' Arthur promises. ''But, if we even get a third of that we'll be lucky.''

''We'd get just a little less than we did for both of the cars we stole off Cornwall.'' Javier announces. ''But still good money.  _A lot_  of good money. Not to mention what those horses will make when they're finally sold wherever they get to.''

''We gotta get 'em first, Javier.''

They reach the back entrance of the Braithwaite property where John promises that they're there with an interest in some of the horses, threatening to leave when the man denies them access until he quickly allows them in and directs them on where to go. Javier splits off to find the truck in the barn as the Gray had promised as the other two head for the stables. 

''Park here.'' Arthur points. ''And I'll do the talkin'.''

John listens and parks where the other directed, Arthur approaching the stablehand. 

''Hello there,'' Arthur says. 

''Can I help you?'' the other man asks. 

''I hope so. I heard you got horses.''

''We always got horses.'' 

''Fine horses, I mean.''

''I don't get you friend.'' the man tries turning back to his work cleaning a saddle when Arthur interrupts him. 

''Yeah you do, come on now.''

''Listen, why don't you get out of here, you and scar face both or I'll call for the Braithwaite security. I don't like officials.''

''We ain't officials. We're...'' he looks to John. ''Connoisseurs. We're lookin' to do some breeding. Come on, partner...''

''Okay fine, follow me.'' he drops his rag and turns towards the stables, John following first and Arthur after him. ''These here is mainly the studs, available for purchase only. They cost a lot to breed, to race, to work, and the Braithwaite's got rules about 'em.''

John stands on the man's left, hands on his hips as he acts interested in the large animals in front of them. Arthur hovers behind the stable hand, popping his knuckles. 

''I mean, if that's what you're interested in. What  _are_  you boys interested in?''

''We represent a very famous-uh-'' Arthur walks around to Johns shoulder before the younger splits off to get closer to the horses, letting them sniff his hand. ''stable and stud farm from er, Saratoga.''

''Is that so?'' the stable hand asks, leaning against an empty stable door. 

'' _Unofficially_.'' Arthur answers lowly. 

''Of course.'' The main points to the first, dark brown horse as Arthur hears the engine of the truck start from the barn. ''This here's Cerberus, he's a real reliable stud-'' the man holds food up in his palm to the horse. ''He fathered many a race winner. This one is Old Faithful,'' he motions to the white one who turns its nose to him. ''He was a champion racer, briefly, until he hurt his leg. He's up for a decent price, he ain't a bad runner and I'm sure the boss would sell him to you if you made the right offer.''

The man comes to the last, very dark horse at the end. 

''And this is Old Father Time, my favorite horse. His coat might be a little thin for those Saratoga winters, but uh, bred right. He'll show you a couple win-''

Arthur grabs him around the throat and scares the horses with his sudden motion, John instantly moving to calm them down while he chokes the man to unconsciousness. The stable hand elbows and hits him, trying to force him to let go until his hits grow weaker and he drops to the ground, limp. 

He drags the limp stable hand into the darker corner of the stables before helping John calm the animals, ordering him to get Javier and the truck to them. 

It's bright, shining windows and white paint reflects what bit of foggy sun they had into the stables as Arthur leads the animals out and to the back doors. John helps corral them inside before shutting the doors and dropping down from the back of the truck, hitting it a few times. Javier tries his hand at reversing it and then taking the back road down the way they came. 

John and Arthur ride out the opposite direction on a thin trail just barely touching the property line, following the truck on the highways with the horses in the back for the hour drive to San Jose to sell the animals off. John gives Javier directions over a phone call and they follow him past the dock the Gray man told them about where he parks and each check the horses inside.

Arthur feeds them and calms them, finding the brush to clean their coats.

''You did fine.'' he tells them as John and Javier find the man they were supposed to sell the horses off to. ''You did real fine. Don't be scared, you'll be better off away from that Braithwaite family and on a boat to a better life in no time.''

The back doors open and he peers over his shoulder, watching a dark haired man with a thin mustache and mouth that was too wide for him lead the horses out of the back. It leaves Arthur with a bad feeling in the bottom of his stomach as the horses neigh about the man leading them, but John reveals some cash for their job. 

''You idiot!''

Javier bravely steps in front of Arthur as John scrambles to stand later outside of the truck. 

''What?!'' John shouts back. 

''A few thousand?!''

''It's what he had on 'im!''

Arthur groans and runs his hand down his face, leaning back against the horse truck. 

''I knew that Gray was lyin'...''

''Listen, listen,'' Javier keeps his hands held up to Arthur, waving them around. ''We might not have gotten a lot of cash for those horses-''

''That man will probably beat the hell out of them before they even get anywhere!'' the oldest man shouts angrily. 

''But!'' Javier shouts in return, louder. ''That truck behind you, it costs more than those three horses combined!''

''Then why didn't we just steal the fuckin' truck, Javier?''

''Because Gray wanted to attack the Braithwaites, and we did, and now we gotta get this big fuckin' truck out.'' John says, rubbing his jaw where Arthur smacked him.

The older man brushes past both of them, boots stomping.

''Where are you storming off to?'' John yells after him.

''To get better money for these goddamn horses!''

-

Javier takes the truck to a meeting place outside of Los Baños in the valley while Arthur drags John along to sell the horses off in somewhere called Madera, also in the valley but a longer distance from the bay area. 

They get back to camp sometime in the early morning, the three of them collapsing and John cursing Arthur for keeping him up so long.


	18. The Fine Smell of Wine

It's close to sunset of the next day when Arthur wakes up and eats before heading out to the Braithwaite manor again, this time as a man simply trying to help instead of the man stealing her horses and hurting her stable hand. 

He's stopped at the front gates again when he arrives. 

''Good evenin'.'' he says to the men, now doubled since the last time he was there. ''I got an appointment with Mrs. Braithwaite. My associates are already here, I believe.''

''Alright,'' they open the gate and grant him entry, the biker purring his bike down the pathway towards the large manor. 

He parks and pushes his keys into his pocket, walking up to the door to knock before a butler opens it and gestures for him to come inside. Wide-eyed, Arthur does so, looking up to the intricate carvings and paintings done on the inside of the large and wide home. He turns, eyes on the ceiling before the butler guides him into the sitting room where Sean and Hosea are seated, Mrs. Braithwaite and her eldest beside them. 

''A gentleman to see you, ma'am.'' the butler says and then excuses himself as Arthur sets foot inside of the lounge. 

''So,'' the woman says, lowering her teacup to its saucer. ''Your friend, the other liquor vendor. Hello.''

''Hello ma'am.''

She sets the saucer on the table in front of her as Hosea swallows his mouthful of tea, following her motions. 

''Arthur, welcome. We were just playing cribbage. An old game you might enjoy. Arthur Morgan, Mrs. Catherine Braithwaite.''

''Nice to see you again.'' his eyes glance to her son who's busy trying to stare a hole through his skull. 

''Apparently.'' she picks up a set of cards, shuffling them. ''So this one, is he as big and dumb as he looks?''

Her son beside her laughs as she deals the cards, eyes on the table as Hosea smiles and sends a warning of a look to Arthur to keep his mouth sealed and his tongue bit. 

''Well, he's surely big, but his intelligence is a matter of some conjecture. Some say he is as dumb as he looks-'' Hosea turns his eyes to the older woman, Braithwaite meeting his gaze before it lands back on Arthur. ''-but, well, he's not quite that dumb.''

He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth as her son's ugly laugh sounds again, but she cuts the noise off with her own irritating voice. 

''So these are the boys going to Caliga Hall?''

''Yes,'' Hosea answers, looking at young Sean beside him who readies himself to stand. ''We could take care of that for you but one hates to be coarse-'' Hosea grips Sean's wrist and pushes him to sit back again. ''-there is the question of money.''

She laughs, dealing the next set of cards out as Hosea's hand slips away from the younger man's wrist. 

''Oh we've got money, Mr...Matthews.''

''Paper? Bonds? Oil? Gas?''

Her son scoffs. 

''She ain't gonna pay you with a certified check, you numbskull.''

Hosea is unfazed, merely lifting his hands and turning towards the two men at his side. 

''Well ain't childbirth a beautiful miracle,'' he waves Sean off and moves his hand to scratch behind his ear. ''It seems a lady can birth monkey's after all.''

''Come on, Arthur.'' Sean mutters. 

The older man opens the doors for them both and allows Sean to walk out ahead of him. He glances into the broad dining room across the hall with lit candles and a shining chandelier above the dark wood before following Sean out the doors into the night air. 

''Hop in,'' Sean says, gesturing to the truck parked out front for them as he dangles the keys. ''I'll fill you in on the way.''

''No, I'm driving.'' Arthur says, snatching them from the Irishman's grip.

''Fine...'' Sean complains. 

''You were quiet in there.'' the older man says as he begins to pull the truck away from the manor. 

''Took everything I had... that son of hers... I'll push that silver spoon down his throat and clean out his arse, that smug mother fucker.''

Arthur grins, shaking his head. 

''So what she got us doin' at the Gray's place?'' he turns away from the Braithwaite property once they reach the road. 

''She wants us to torch their grape vine fields. Said that what they mix into their alcohol is enough to get a horse drunk and burn a few good building's down.''

''What?''

''Yep! Apparently that shite burns faster than kerosene. She said it'd be 'fitting' she did. All I could think about was 'fitting' my boot up her hook nose, the snotty old bitch.''

Arthur chuckles, passing through the stop at the end of the road. 

''Hosea really picked the right man for tea at the manor, didn't he?''

''Oh, he was givin' his usual flannel. One of these family got treasure stashed somewhere, he reckons. I mean, I'm all for sticking it against rich folks, especially rich folks like them, I hate 'em. But there really better be some money at the end of all this.''

''Hosea knows what he's doin'.'' Arthur promises. 

''Does he, though? The master finagler of nothing!''

 ''Easy, easy.''

''So far we destroyed the Braithwaite still, tried to sell whatever deadly mixture is in them bottles back to 'em, now we're on this fool's errand, which I'm very much looking forward to, by the way! They was sayin' old man Gray's doubled security after that business in town.''

''We just robbed 'em of their horses, too.''

''That was you? Oh Christ...''

''So, we're just gonna drive on in there? Is that it?''

''Not to worry! MacGuire's got a plan! Trucks go in and outta there all the time with supplies, payroll, equipment, especially now that they've taken on all that extra muscle. We're makin' a delivery, that's all. Just leave it to me, I can talk a dog off a meat wagon.''

''Alright then...''

They're about a mile down the road from Caliga Hall when Sean suddenly demands that he stop. 

''Wait a second! Are you not worried about them Grays?''

''Excuse me?''

''Are. You. Not. Worried. About. Them Grays?''

''In what sense?''

''Well they knows you!''

''Yeah... Maybe you're right...'' Arthur pulls the truck off on the side of the road, searching the backseat and pulling a towel out from it. ''Here, you drive.''

He hands the keys off and climbs into the backseat, having Sean adjust the towel over him so he was shrouded from any peering eyes that decided to take an extra look inside of the vehicle when they pulled inside. 

''Just be quiet, and don't move.'' Sean tells him. ''Let me do the talkin'!''

He feels the truck suddenly start again and hears the tires crunch on the gravel as they turn onto the Gray property. He has a view into the footwell of the passenger's seat as the vehicle slows and he hears the driver's side window whir down. 

''What you want, boy?'' a gruff man asks. 

''I've-I've... there was a thing! A thing! A thing at the bar.''

''What're you talkin' about?''

''I'm deliverin' supplies.''

''You ain't the usual driver.''

''Here, you want a bottle friend? Go on, reach in the bed and grab one and have a wee drop.'' he hears the leather of the truck seat creak as Sean shifts his body weight out the window to follow the footsteps that echo away. Arthur feels the truck bounce as the guard climbs up the side, followed by glass clinking as he takes a bottle out. 

''You new?''

''I'm new.'' Sean answers as the steps echo back to the window and the seat creaks back in place. ''I mean you no harm.'' Arthur hears the cork of the bottle pop off until he hears liquid being poured from the bottle, a harsh gasp following. 

''That's some strong shit.''

''For some strong fellers.'' Sean answers. ''I've come from Donegal, in Ireland.''

''You don't say?'' the man lets out a laugh.

''Yeah! They said you'd understand, some kind of incident at the bar in town. I was told to bring this here, ask no questions and I'll tell no lies.''

''Alright.'' the guard says. Arthur hears his boots echo away before the passenger door opens and he sees the boots in the footwell. ''I'll direct you on where to go.''

They continue chatting about origin's of families and how they ended up in America as Sean follows his directions to a barn on the grapevine fields. Arthur watches the door open, allowing a stream of light in as Sean follows, the boots leaving his vision. He waits a few more moments, hearing their conversation twist around to the back end of the truck before he throws the towel off of himself and carefully opens the back door. 

The older man slips out, black bandana covering the lower half of his face as he uses the side of the truck as support. Crouching, he follows the guard closely behind waiting as Sean continues a long winded explanation of fancy buildings and the man, Hamish, lifts the bottle back to his mouth. 

He wraps his arm around his neck and uses his strength to apply pressure, feeling his bicep digging into the back of the man's neck and forearm squeezing his throat. Arthur grips his wrist, the bottle thrown back at Arthur in an attempt to save himself but Sean grabs it and pries it from his grip instead. When the man goes limp, Arthur drops him and is aided by Sean in dragging him to the corner of the barn before Sean pulls the doors closed. 

They stay in there until it grows dark, Sean using the hours that go by to make molotov cocktails with the alcohol they were supplied with, Arthur trying to figure out what exactly was put in them. He sniffs it, grimacing before Sean announces that he's finished with his science project. 

''Alright,'' Arthur approaches the door on the side, pushing it open and grunting before raising his eyes to his surroundings. ''Here's how I think we should deal with things. You deal with the dry barn over there while I deal with the fields themselves.''

''There's quite a lot of 'em, are you sure you won't need help?''

''I know you and your love of fire, but no. I'm just gonna get 'em a bit doused, then we'll start the fire later.''

''Alright, sure.''

They both slip back inside and Arthur shuts the heavy barn door behind himself. 

''How many of these boys d'ya think you'll need?'' Sean asks, gesturing to his collection of green bottles. Arthur begins scooping them up. 

''This should do it.'' he picks up a jug of the Braithwaite alcohol, lugging it under his arm. ''Look, once they get wind of what we're doin', there'll be no turning back. So move quick.''

''Of course. I'm rebel stock, boy-'' Sean pulls the back door open, heels digging into the ground. ''-I was born burning down manor houses.''

''Well burn quietly,'' Arthur whispers as he follows him out. 

The younger man moves silently over the dirt with Arthur in tow with his jug of alcohol, the two of them slowing behind a crate of sorts as one of the guards points his flashlight towards a truck headed towards him.

''Hey, I'm here for delivery.'' the driver says through the open window.

''We already got our delivery for the day.'' the guard responds, shining his light into the truck. 

''That's strange...''

''I'll take this one down,'' Sean promises. ''You get onto them fields.''

Arthur nods, leaving the younger one to his own devices as he rushes across the dark grounds towards the grapevines ahead of him. He crouches low between stems of the grapevines, unscrewing the top and watching a flashlight beam rush over his head as the guard wanders past.  

He begins emptying the contents onto the plants, moving behind the guards backs as when they look away, or when two begin having a conversation in the center of the dirt field. When he finishes he tosses the jug, rushing back to the dry barn to find Sean.

He spots the Irishman's form crouched over, slowly approaching his target with a hard look in his eye as Arthur comes up behind him. Sean wanders inside and Arthur sees a splatter of blood, followed by the noise of someone choking before Sean's hunting knife drips blood onto the ground. 

The older man steps inside and stands, checking behind them as Sean holsters his knife and pulls his smaller plastic jug out. 

''I'll give this a quick dousin' as well.'' Sean promises. He throws the liquid around the building before taking his place back beside Arthur, the older man already gripping the molotov in his hand, ready to throw. Sean throws his jug in onto the ground and Arthur strikes his match, lighting the end of the molotov and throwing it inside. 

The place erupts in flames, the bottle shattering as Sean throws a second one in for good measure. 

''Woohoo!'' Sean sounds, Arthur turning away to head back to the fields and light them as well. 

The younger man holds off the guards gunfire as Arthur thoroughly lights their section of the fields in flames, Sean promising that they can get dirt bikes from if he would just follow. Arthur hears the alarm bell ringing and he pulls his gun from his belt. 

''Not right now.'' he says, cocking it with one hand as he grips the neck of the molotov in the other. ''We got company, look out!''

The flames grow stronger behind them as Arthur and Sean shoot the men down, some falling back behind cover as more come flowing from the darkness of the field with guns at the ready. Sean handles the men in front as Arthur handles the men coming from the side. Horses screaming in fear and men yelling in pain as bullets hit them and tear their skin. 

''Where the bloody hell are they all coming from!?'' Sean shouts. 

''This is the Gray's ramped up security, I guess.'' Arthur leans down and grabs one of the Gray security guns on the ground as they run past the two men they shot earlier. He hears Sean igniting more molotov's, throwing them into the grapevine fields. 

Arthur turns, watching the building with the promised dirt-bikes go up in flames. 

''There goes our ride outta here!'' he shouts. 

''That truck we saw coming in earlier, we can take that.'' Sean says. 

The older man allows him to lead the way, firing their way through the burning fields as the flames begin to lick across the rest of the grapevines. They throw more molotov's to hurry it along, Sean dragging Arthur towards the truck as two Gray's ride in on ATV's with shotguns. 

Sean shoots them both off and hops on one of them, Arthur on the other as they steer their way out of there, the tires throwing up mud. 

It's a long chase away from the Gray manor when there's even a chance that the security will slow down on them. Arthur turns uncomfortably on the ATV to shoot behind him, blowing out windows and tires, as well as mirrors and hitting a few of the Gray security in the process. 

Sean directs him down the road and they ride off into the trees, the younger man whooping at their success. 

Neither of them slow down until their miles away from the Grays and the sirens have long since been out of their hearing range. Nothing follows after, and no one comes threatening with guns. They pull to a stop on the top of a hill, seeing the grapevines burn as ash flows into the sky and firetrucks struggle to put the flames out.


	19. Blessed are the Peacemakers

The Braithwaite pays handsomely in cash, meaning that there was no paper trail to follow the gang, a good amount going to each of them and an even larger amount going right into the clubhouse fees. Ms. Grimshaw receives the money and uses it to absolve the gang's debts as those in California use it to buy themselves into hotels with nice showers and big buffets. 

The group is full and tired when they get back, all of them falling asleep in a short amount of time. 

Arthur is second to last to wake up the next morning, of course beating Uncle to consciousness only to step outside to hear Micah trying to convince Dutch of something stupid again. Arthur doesn't need to know the details, he knows already that it's something that could get them hurt, or killed, or arrested and put on death row. 

God knew that most if not all of them deserved the lethal injection.

''Good morning, Arthur.'' Charles greets, offering him some coffee. 

''Morning, Charles.'' he says, taking it gratefully and sipping loud enough to drown out Micah's incessant noise behind him. ''How are you?''

''Good. I'm glad that we're making a good flow of steady cash. That truck, those horses, the Braithwaite woman paying us for burning the Gray fields. Grimshaw is still pulling money in back at the clubhouse, not to count how much we're getting still from running drugs  _and_  selling those weapons you and Lenny stole off of the Raiders.''

''We've been busy, haven't we?''

''We sure have. This is a lot of cash, and a lot of happy people, more than I've seen in a while.''

''It's been a hard couple of weeks leadin' up to this. Dutch is puttin' that hope back in us like he said he would. We're comin' up on a long, well-deserved break.'' 

They cheers, clinking their cups together before Hosea's voice cuts in. 

''You don't actually believe that stupid sack of shit, do you?''

Both men look to the older couple beside Dutch's motorcycle, Micah having wandered off but not too far; he still wanted to listen in to their conversation and make sure Dutch was debating it. Dutch raises his head and tells something to Hosea quietly as Micah wanders to Charles and Arthur. 

Smith holds his ground as Micah greets Arthur, prancing around him as he quotes something he probably hadn't heard of before he heard Hosea reading it to Jack. Arthur allows Charles to leave him as Micah breathes out a laugh, leaning closer. 

''You know, while you and the old man and Dutch have been digging us ever deeper into shit-'' he says, lifting his phone beside his head to show Pearson's caller ID. ''-Pearson might have lightened the load a little bit.''

Arthur can't hold back from rolling his eyes, finishing the instant coffee Charles gave him and setting the cup aside. 

''Ain't you interested?'' Micah asks. 

''I guess...'' Arthur raises his head as Dutch approaches them both, Micah ordering Pearson to explain himself to the gang president. 

''What is it, Mr. Pearson?'' Dutch asks, leaning on the rickety banister of the den as Micah turns the volume of his phone higher. Pearson cracks through, sounding breathless and excited. 

''It's peace, Dutch, the O'Driscolls.'' Dutch raises his dark eyes to Arthur's as Micah looks at them both expectantly. ''I mean, I think there's a way.''

''What on Earth are you talkin' about?''

''Get the words out properly, fat man.'' Micah says to Pearson. 

Pearson huffs before continuing:

''I met a couple of the O'Driscoll boys on my way into Ehrensburg,'' Dutch straightens his back, crossing his foot over his ankle. ''Things were about to get ugly, but you know how I am in a fight-like a cornered tiger!''

Pearson breathes out a laugh as Dutch doesn't hide his disinterest, checking the watch on his wrist and causing his engraved gold rings to glint as his other hand reaches inside his jacket pocket for a cigar

''But-uhm- it didn't. And we got to talkin'... nice guys... they even suggested a parley. To end things. Like gentlemen.''

Dutch looks to Arthur first, cigar clutched between two fingers as the younger man lifts his eyes from the phone Micah held too close to his face. 

''Gentlemen?'' Dutch asks. 

Arthur checks behind him before stepping back as Pearson agrees, Dutch rushing Micah instead of the fat chef on the other line. 

''Colm O'Driscoll?'' 

Micah moves back quickly, lowering the phone as a glint of fear shows in his eyes.

''Have you lost your minds?'' he growls. 

''You're always tellin' us, Dutch,'' Micah speaks when the older man slows to a stop. ''Do what has to be done, but don't fight wars that ain't worth fightin'.''

''They want a parley?'' Hosea asks, each man turning his attention to him as he grasps a book in his hands. ''It's a trap.'' 

''Well of course,'' Micah walks a thin rope between whining and agreeing. ''It's probably a trap, but what have we got to lose in tryin'?'' he turns back to Dutch, desperate eyes searching the older man's set face. 

''Our lives.'' Arthur responds for him. 

Dutch points to him, his silent agreement with the first man he raised as son. 

''We ain't gettin' killed,'' Micah says as he turns to him. ''Because you'll be protectin' us.'' Arthur tenses his arm when the other touches it. ''If it's a trap, you shoot the lot of them. If it ain't, that  _slim chance-_ ''

Dutch shakes his head, walking past Micah. 

''I don't see the point in any of this.'' he answers, headed for Hosea who he'd angered not even minute before, coming to his shoulder for a sort of support. Hosea doesn't look to shut him down completely, but he isn't interfering further in the conversation than he has to. 

''It's a chance we  _got_  to take.'' Micah says, following Dutch's coat tails. They each round to the opposite side of the table as the president, Arthur standing at Hosea's side as Dutch stands straight and sighs. 

''I killed Colm's brother...'' he informs Bell, Hosea standing slowly beside him from his seat. ''A long time ago-'' his eyes wander the trees and lift to the sky as he thinks distantly of the person Colm killed in angered revenge. ''-then he killed a woman I loved dear, that I held close to my heart.''

Micah only hums as Dutch's eyes shift through the grieving process over again, the blond leaning against the table. 

''As you say,'' he says. ''It's a long time ago, Dutch.''

Dutch continues to stare at the clouds before they turn to Hosea, the dark haired man nodding at the gray hair before he slips his unlit cigar back into his jacket pocket. 

''Let's go.'' Hosea rolls his head back in disbelief, pressing his palms firmly against the table. ''You and me, with Arthur protecting us.''

Micah instantly hangs the call up on Pearson, Arthur looking to Hosea as the older man lowers himself back into his seat and lifts his book back up again, allowing Dutch to meander to the motorcycles with Micah hopping next to him. 

Arthur pats the older man on the shoulder as he turns away to join the other two, trusting Dutch's decision for the most part but struggling to extend that trust to the man who rode beside him. Micah already has a location, time, and certain hideout for Arthur planned out ahead of time. The blond has the long distance sniper with him too, handing it off to the road captain and directing him on where to hide as Dutch waits for him to lead them to their meeting spot. 

The dirty blond is watching them from the roof of an old gas station, Dutch and Micah riding their bikes out to the middle of an empty dirt field. Dutch slows as Micah comes to a stop beside him, the older man slowly stopping and sitting back uncomfortably on The Count. 

He sends a single glance Arthur's way when three separate trails of dust follow after varying shades of green motorcycles, Colm in the lead with his bandana around the lower half of his face. The O'Driscoll's stop, standing from their bikes slowly as Dutch pushes the kickstand down and stands himself, hands resting on his belt. 

Colm removes his bandana and stands some yards from the Van Der Linde's, hooking his fingers in his belt loops and tilting his head to the side. 

''I didn't even know you were up here, Dutch.'' Colm breaks the silence first, Dutch unmoving from behind his red aviators. ''Not until you left a trail of mess and bodies behind you.''

''Did you come to visit me?'' Dutch asks. ''That's real sweet of you, Colm.''

The two O'Driscoll's behind him grip their guns with a strange sort of affection as Micah shuffles beside Dutch. 

''It's been a while.'' Colm tells him, both taking a few steps closer to one another. 

''Sure,'' Dutch answers, raising his hands at his sides and shrugging his shoulders. 

''So uh, how's your gang doing? They still believin' in ya? The better world, the  _purer_  world. How's that comin' along?''

''Just fine.''

Colm visibly nods, spitting something from his mouth as he steps closer, wiping the saliva from around his lips with the back of his hand. 

''How's that  _score_  you stole off us?''

Arthur watches a small smile grace Dutch's lips. 

'' _Which one?_ ''

Colm is silent and unmoving for a moment before he lets out laughter, a noise resembling a pig as he points at Dutch and turns to the men behind him. 

''Oh I like that,'' he states. ''It's like I said, this a  _charismatic leader_.''

Dutch stays frozen, the smile slowly leaving his face as Colm takes a few steps closer. Arthur stretches his shoulders and breathes in slowly, watching as green colored fuck begins to speak again. 

''There's a lotta heat on us now, Dutch.'' he says. ''What with you Vegas, tryin' to steal money off of one of their top investors and getting a few of your gang members killed... I was offered a price, Dutch, to bring you in...''

''Why didn't you take it?''

''Well, still might.'' 

Dutch takes a step closer, eyes directed to the grass beneath his shoes momentarily before he lifts his gaze to the other, raising his hand to remove his sunglasses. His dark eyes stare right back at Colm. 

''I am... sorry, about your brother.''

Colm keeps his shaking anger to a minimum, cold glare staring Dutch down before he opens his mouth to speak. 

''Yeah... well, I never liked him much.''

'' **I**...  **liked**...  **Annabel**.''

Colm looks to the ground, sniffing before he stares back at the other man. 

''You always liked the ladies, Dutch Van Der Linde. I liked that about you.''

''What are we doin' here, Colm?'' Dutch asks, stepping closer. ''Is this thing  _over_?''

Arthur watches a grotesque smile grow on Colm's face, the muscle in his arms wanting to react to the trigger for him, the sight focused right on O'Driscoll's head. He hears rushed footsteps before he turns, looking over his shoulder only to watch the barrel of a rifle fly at his face. 

-

He wakes up with a splitting headache and numbness in his nose, men poking and rolling him over, different names being thrown his way that he isn't conscious enough to understand. One stomps on his hand, and he groans, another stomping his opposite wrist before each begin kicking him in the ribs, causing him to black out.

Arthur tries squirming away from their campfire when he's awake again, seeing a car not far from the circle of sleeping bags and trash before one shouts and another grabs him by the hair, lifting him up and throwing him into the rocks harshly. He hears them laughing over him, eyes struggling to focus before a rifle barrel comes into view. Something pokes his shoulder before a gunshot rings out and a searing pain burns through his join, Arthur yelling in pain.

All of the blood has rushed to his head and its pounding, the biker realizing he was upside down and alone in a dark room. His ankles are sore as well from a tight chain wrapped around them, but no pain amounts to the sensation in his shoulder when he struggles, when he  _breathes_. 

He's desperate for Dutch to come riding in with the posse behind him, but there's no growling motorbikes or gunfire, just laughter and accents above him. A light is shined directly in his face, Arthur huffing and squinting at it before Colm appears in it, shadowing Arthur's face with his body. He's backlit, lifting a utensil in his mouth to eat until he reaches for the light and takes it from one of his men. He directs them back up the steps, setting the light on the surface of the table beside him to light the ceiling. 

''Arthur Morgan.'' he says, light cascading down around them both. ''It's good to see ya.''

Arthur groans, ending it with a 'hello' in return. He coughs, Colm leaning closer. 

''How's the wound?'' the older man asks. 

''I hardly feel it.'' 

''You will.'' Colm promises. He lowers his forkful of steak and potato to Arthur's mouth, the younger man gripping his wrist to try and get the bite before Colm rips his arm back. ''Septic... It ain't nice. Now tell me, fine gun like you, why you still runnin' with old Dutch? You could come ride with me, make some  _real_  money.''

''It ain't about the money, Colm.'' Arthur tells him, Colm crossing the floor to the opposite side of the room where he picks up a chair. 

''Oh no,'' he walks around the chair, bowl still in hand. ''It's Dutch's famous charisma!'' A harsh kick to Arthur's side leaves his already throbbing wounds hurting. ''You killed a whole bunch of my boys back down in Ripley.''

''I don't know what you're talkin' about.'' Arthur answers, swinging around in the chain clasps as Colm sets his bowl on the table next to his swinging body. 

''Oh, you lie, my friend.'' he pulls his gun from its place on his hip, aiming it at the younger's face. ''And I thought Dutch preached truth.''

''Let me go, Colm.'' he says. ''And end all this  _crap_  between you two. We all got real problems now.''

''Way I see it,'' Colm stands straight, lowering his gun. ''They get him, they forget about me.''

He pushes his gun back onto his hip as Arthur responds. 

''They ain't the forgettin' sort. If I were you, I'd run as far as I could get as soon as I had the money.''

''Oh, I know you would.'' Colm leans down, dragging his fingers down Arthur's chest towards his face, a futile attempt at a hit leaving Arthur more sore than before. ''But I lead an angry Dutch into rescue ya, riding hard with all his gang, and then I let 'em snatch you all up. Then  _disappear_.''

''So you only met with him to grab me?'' Arthur asks, blinking harshly as a strong wave of pain and nausea run over him. 

''Of course.'' Colm sets his hands back on his hips. ''He gonna be so mad! He gonna come ragin' over here with a whole lot of ya, and the law'll be waitin' for him. Oh Arthur, oh Arthur I  _missed_  you.''

He picks the large flashlight back up from the table and proceeds to beat the younger man with it, hitting him repeatedly in the stomach until the entertainment runs dry and Arthur sobs in pain, body wracking with a cough. Colm laughs, using the flashlight to find his way back out, leaving Arthur in the dark. 

The next time he opens his eyes, there's daylight flooding inside, the moment following that its pitch black and there's only a candle inside lighting the room. He turns his head when the pain slows, looking around and finding a metal file on the table next to him. Arthur forces his strained and hurt muscles to move, swinging himself back and forth before grabbing the file and swinging back the other way. He uses the edge of the table to slow himself before regaining his strength and sitting up to unfasten the lock holding the chain's in place. 

Arthur hits the floor and the wind is knocked out of his already weak lungs, the man writhing in the dirt before gripping the edge of the table and the stool to lift himself up. He slumps against the table, dropping the file on the surface of the wood before his cold fingers grip the file up again. He warms it over the candle flame, swallowing thickly and using his free hand to grip one of the shotgun shells scattered across the table. 

He brings the file away from the hot flame and lets out a grunt, looking away as he pushes it into his wound, biting the inside of his cheek to pieces as he digs it in further and twists it, eyes clenching shut before he pulls it out suddenly and lets out a shallow, pained breath. He pats it off and grabs the shotgun shell, pouring the gunpowder onto it and grabbing the candle, biting the collar of his undershirt before raising the flame to his wound. 

He gasps and drops the candle, hot wax splattering over his toes until the door of the basement he was in opens and an angry voice complains to the others above. Arthur looks over his shoulder before moving quickly into the dark, disoriented and slightly dizzy, but it was better than being strung up and beat by Colm. 

''I want to go home. Home!'' the man says, complaining about Mexico as the flashlight shines across the wall quickly. ''Hold on, I'll be back in a minute.''

Arthur listens to the boots stomp down the steps before the man rushes to the freed chains, shining his light up to them. He sneaks up behind him and grabs him by the throat, snapping his neck and dropping his body, grabbing his flashlight before it could clatter on the ground. He searches his body, finding some cash and a keyring with  _Plymouth_  engraved on the metal. Arthur tries taking the man's boots but they're a size too small, so he abandons them and grips the key to his chest, shoulder aching. 

He slowly climbs his way up the stairs, tired eyes peering around his surroundings and keeping him running on the fumes of adrenaline before he sneaks behind the light of an O'Driscoll, staying in the shadows and maneuvering around as he searched for the Plymouth he'd seen back in Arizona what felt like years ago. 

He stays crouched behind an O'Driscoll, following him past the wall of the building before he turns to one side, oblivious to the bleeding man behind him. Arthur reaches the dark green car and unlocks it, climbing into it and leaning back in the chair as his lungs struggle to breathe air back into his chest. 

Arthur stays low as a flashlight roams over the glass, turning away just as quickly. He peers over the dashboard towards the hill in front of him, hand pulling the handbrake back and allowing the car to slowly roll forward. He reaches for the seatbelt and clasps it over his chest, sticking the keys into the ignition and waiting for the right moment. 

One O'Driscoll shouts that they found a body, but Arthur still only steers the car, steering it around the bend where it picks up a greater amount of speed and heads down towards the rushing road. Arthur starts the car and grips the wheel, engine roaring and wheels screaming as he pushes the pedal against the floor, driving anywhere  _away_  from the O'Driscoll's. 


	20. A Short Walk in a Pretty Town

Arthur doesn't remember lots from his drive back to camp. Lots of people honking at him, and then suddenly the door was opening and worried voices were fretting over him, dragging him from the car. Dutch's face came into view and that was what calmed him before he blabbered Colm's words to the other man. Hosea treated his wounds and forced him to lay still.

He woke up the next day in a hospital room with Sadie and Lenny with him, the last two in their trusted gang to be seen as criminals. The next two weeks are an exhausted blur where he's mainly high on painkillers and sleeping to heal, waking to hear Hosea reading stories to him every once in a while. 

Micah never shows his face, luckily, but everyone else brings him something as thanks for not getting himself killed. He remembers Dutch spending one evening simply sitting at the foot of the cot, hand resting on his ankle as if he was afraid the moment he let go, Arthur would be taken from him again.

It's more than a month until anyone decides its safe enough for him to get back to work, and even then he's only ever cleaning the bikes for them, or offering advice to the younger men about what they can do to get on Dutch's good side, but its difficult for them. Hosea has him help with counting the money from jobs, and still Micah hides from them both. 

Arthur's scribbling in his journal when John sits next to him on a fallen log, handing a cell phone over to him. 

''It's Swanson, back at the clubhouse.'' John says, Arthur wrapping his fingers around it. 

''Thank you, John.'' the younger man nods, resting his hands in his lap as the road captain lifts the cell to his ear. ''Hello?''

''I thought we'd be buryin' you, Mr. Morgan.'' the Reverend sounds sober, and solemn.

''Well, not quite yet, Reverend.'' he answers, closing his journal around his pen. 

''Good... how you feelin'?''

''Oh, about the same as you.'' he rolls his shoulder as a strict pain ebbs through. 

''I'm sorry to hear that.'' Swanson says, both sharing a breathy laugh over the line. ''Well, take care of yourself.''

''You too.''

The line grows quiet before going dead, Arthur lowering it from his ear slowly until he hands it back John who's still seated beside him. 

''Dutch wants to go for a ride with you, if you're up for it and you're not hurtin' too bad.'' the younger man tells him as he slips his phone into his vest's breast pocket. 

''I'll see 'im when I'm ready.''

''Has it been hurtin' lots?''

''My whole body or jus' the shoulder?''

''Just the shoulder.'' John answers, giving a small smile. Arthur shakes his head. 

''Nah, it ain't too bad. It tenses and cramps occasionally but... no. It's fine.''

A few weeks ago he wasn't even able to lift his arm above his head due to the pain. Days after that he began to realize that his hand and arm wouldn't immediately respond to commands and that it was growing dull and useless, simply a weight on his side. He pushed it on back into a working position until his fingers clamped like he wanted and his arm was stronger than before. 

''Good... well,'' John stands, patting Arthur's arm. ''I've got to get back to work.''

''Have you talked to Abigail recently?''

''No, why?''

''I'm just wonderin'. Hearin' about me probably made her sick to death about you, s'all.''

''Abigail and Jack are... fine, from what I know.'' 

Arthur nods, the younger man turning away to let him finish his scribbling in his journal. 

-

He approaches Dutch a few mornings after his talk with the Reverend, finding him wiping his arms of oil after changing it out on his motorcycle. He runs the towel off of his tattoos and raises his eyes to Arthur who greets him with a nod.

''How are you feeling, Arthur?'' the older man asks. 

''A lot better.''

''That's good.''

''John said you were interested in goin' for a ride?''

Dutch nods, dropping his towel onto the rock beside him before shrugging his over shirt back on, buttoning it up. 

''I was but Bill needs help in town.''

''Am I the only one going?''

''No. Sean and Micah too-'' Arthur rolls his eyes and Dutch sighs, dropping his hands from his shirt. ''I know, I know. But he's already in town with Bill and Sean, just go on and help those two at least.''

Dutch tucks his shirt back into his pants, grabbing for his jacket.

''Alright.''

He rides into town, getting back to the feeling of his bike as he pulls it up behind the police building and follows the back alleys around to the three men. Micah makes a comment on Bill's appearance to which Bill flatly responds and Sean continues to mess with his gun in his hands. 

''We been waitin' for you, Morgan.'' Micah says, Sean's eyes raising from the gun as Bill continues scowling towards Bell. 

''Well I am sorry to have kept you.'' he responds, Bill pushing from the bicycle posts and leading them down the sidewalk. 

''Let's get going.'' Bill says, hiding his sawed shotgun under his coat. Sean conceals his weapon as well as Micah turns to follow the other men. 

''What's the plan?'' Arthur asks, hearing his boots echo on the street ground. 

''We're meetin' a few of the Gray's at the bar. They were talkin' to Bill about needing extra security-'' Micah explains. 

''After the farce of stealin' those horses for them, why we doin' this?''

''Because we need the cash, cowpoke, and we need to stay in with them.''

''What kind of security are they lookin for, then?''

''That's what we're gonna find out. Now come on.''

Arthur raises his eyes to the few men on the street, watching the traffic lights change at the end of the road even though there were no vehicles. Bill and Micah walk confidently towards the bar as Sean walks only a few steps in front the oldest, Arthur turning his eyes over his shoulder to the mainly empty parking lot in front of the hotel. 

He slows down, the rest looking at him. 

''What's wrong now, cowpoke?'' Micah asks. 

''Does this seem legit to you, Bill?'' he asks, ignoring Micah. 

''Sure.'' Bill responds. 

''Dutch said we were gonna continue dealin' with them until we found this treasure!'' Micah exclaims, resting his hands on his belt. 

''Can we trust 'em?'' Sean asks. 

''Can we trust anyone?'' Arthur responds. 

''Yeah...''

''Let's just see what they say...'' Micah tells them both. 

''They said there was some big misunderstandin' about them horses.'' Bill states, stopping on the sidewalk with Arthur though Micah continues walking and stands a few feet from them, Sean staying strong at the older man's side. 

''And what about us burnin' their fields?'' Sean asks, pressing his hand against the light pole beside him. 

''They don't know we had anythin' to do with that.'' Micah explains. 

''Oh, that so?'' Arthur asks. 

''Yeah.'' Bill answers. ''They think it was them Braithwaites gettin' revenge for stealin' their horses. Listen, I know these Gray boys a bit now, this is on the level.''

Arthur shakes his head, the other three walking ahead of him and forcing him to follow. 

''We're stuck in the middle of some ancient feud, but instead of playin' both sides we're bein' used by both of 'em!''

''They were sayin' that Catherine Braithwaite-''

''Now hold up.'' he raises his hands and stops them, reaching forward to Sean. ''This don't feel right...''

''Now it don't feel right?'' Sean asks as Arthur hooks his fingers in his collar. ''I could have told you th-''

As he pulls the younger man to himself, a bullet connects with his stomach and spatters blood over them, the redhead yelling out in pain and dropping to the ground immediately. Bill and Micah run for cover as Arthur drags Sean between two buildings and immediately presses his hand into the wound to try and stop the bleeding. 

Sean writhes in pain, face taught as he sobs and grips Arthur's sleeves with bloody hands. 

''Shit!'' he feels Sean's fingers pulling at his sleeves as Bill yells 'what the hell' in the background. Micah runs past, muttering something about the Gray's as Arthur focuses on slowing Sean's bleeding and calming him down. ''Breathe, Sean.'' 

''It hurts, oh my Christ alive it hurts!''

''I know it does, son, but you gotta breathe, alright?''

Sean begins hyperventilating, tears sliding down his cheeks and into his red stubble as Arthur pushes his weight onto his wound. Micah and Bill proceed with the shootout in the street, the dirty blond raising his eyes to see a figure dressed in SWAT dropping onto the ground from the rooftop, his sniper following. 

''Listen, kid,'' Arthur forces scared young eyes to look at him. ''I'm gonna take my hands away-''

''No, Arthur, don't please!''

''I'm gonna take 'em away and you've got to press your hands to the wound yourself, alright?''

''Arthur!''

''We ain't gonna get out of here if you don't listen to me.''

''It hurts, Arthur!''

''I'm sure it does, but you gotta listen to me, okay?'' Sean stares at him. ''Okay?''

The younger shakes his head quickly, Arthur pulling his hands from the blood and grabbing Sean's wrists, pressing them against the wound. The younger man writhes and clenches his jaw, huffing and panting as his tears drip against the shoulders of his vest, red hair clinging to his sweaty face. 

Arthur brings his bloodied hands back and cocks his pistol, firing at the figures running around the town's police vehicles as Micah and Bill change stations and push forward. He turns when a van comes barreling down the road with more officers, screaming to a stop and letting the back doors fling open. The men rushing out drop like flies to the ground, leaving them with the dispatch beside Arthur and behind Bill. 

He steps away from Sean, hearing the younger call for him weakly as he jogs to the front doors. 

''Get out here!'' Micah yells. 

Arthur looks over his shoulder to the redhead who's grasping his stomach and beginning to slide further down the wall in pain. 

''Come on, sheriff Gray!'' Micah says, holstering his gun as the older man looks back. ''You need to get a hold on this town. It's going to hell!''

''Who the hell do you think you are? A bunch of two-bit thugs from God only knows where? You're dumb to think that we don't know what you been up to! What you been doin'!'' they hear the man yelling from inside. 

''I said, come out!''

''Oh don't worry, we'll come out!''

The door bursts open and the remaining officers step out with Bill in their grasp, a gun pressed against the side of his head. 

''Oh, Bill!'' Arthur says. 

''Guns on the ground, both of you!'' one shouts. 

''You know we can't do that! You put yours down!''

''We'll blow his brains out-''

Micah fires and kills each of the officers, splattering blood against the side of Bill's face. The larger man stumbles, using the column of the building for support as he looks over to the bodies bleeding out around him. 

''Shit...'' he says, wiping the remaining bits of the officer from his cheek. 

Arthur rushes back to Sean, who's struggling to keep his eyes open and focusing on the older man. He uses cloth to wrap the wound and picks the younger man up, helping him balance before walking him back to the bikes. The Irishman can barely keep his own head up as Arthur drapes his coat over his shoulders and seats himself, starting the motorcycle up. 

''You jus' hold on, alright?'' Arthur asks. 

Sean nods, eyes heavy as he slumps against the older man. 

''Where are you goin'?'' Micah asks him. 

''The hell away from here right now, that's for sure.''

''Calm down, Morgan. We weren't to know.''

''We were!'' he raises angered eyes to him, kicking his bike on. ''They set us up once before, they were sure to do it again!''

''We were just tryin' to follow a lead, just like you, just like Hosea.''

He wants to punch the man and tell him to leave Hosea's name out of his mouth. 

''You don't want no lead, you don't care for nobody but yourself!'' he shouts, reversing back from the building. 

''Oh, you act so high and mighty, but you're no better than the rest of us!'' Micah jabs his finger at him. ''I ridden with you boys close on what, nine, ten months now? And all you do is complain. You can fight, but you can't think.'' he taps the side of his head. 

''You can't do neither.'' he spits. 

''D'ya need help with him, Arthur?'' Bill asks. 

''Sure, Bill. Just make sure he don't fall off the back...'' he looks over his shoulder at Sean as Bill jogs past to get to his own wide motorcycle. Sean blinks heavily, shutting his eyes but Arthur uses his shoulder to keep him conscious. ''You stay awake, now.''

''Aye...'' Sean responds. ''Bossy prick...''

Arthur rides away from the mess, Bill following him down the road so they could get the bullet out of Sean and get the wound closed. 

They do what they can for Sean, Charles quickly taking him to the emergency room and deciding to explain the issue when he got there. Dutch turns to Arthur, the younger man clenching his fists and feeling Sean's dried blood crack and break. His hands are cleaned thoroughly as the rest begin packing their things up to move them on. 

''We need to get goin', Dutch.'' Hosea says after helping John with some of their things. ''We can't wait around here for the cops to swarm the place.''

''I know, I'm thinking...'' Dutch responds. 

''There's that manor Lenny and I attacked-'' Arthur explains. ''-we can go there if there ain't too many Raider's millin' about.''

Dutch nods. 

''Let's get goin' then.''


	21. Modern Blood Feuds

They were waiting in the silence of the den when Javier tosses Dutch his phone after it rings for the twentieth time. He answers it, pulling it from his ear as shouting sounds from the other line before he turns away from the rest of the group and listens. 

''Slow...'' he raises his hand. ''Slow down, Abigail, I can barely understand you.''

''Where's my goddamn son?'' Arthur hears her shouting from the other line. ''Where is he? Where's my son? They took him, didn't they? They took my son!''

''Who took him?'' he asks the older man. 

''Pearson described Braithwaite boys to me.'' Hosea answers, waving his own phone. ''He said he saw men leaving last night but hadn't thought much of it, assuming Strauss was doing a deal but when Abigail began shouting...''

''Where is my son?'' he hears again. ''Where is my son? If anything, where is he, Dutch van der Linde?''

''We will find him, we will bring him back to you, and we will kill any fool who had the temerity to touch one hair on that boy's head.'' John approaches, chest heaving and dark eyes searching them wildly as Hosea's own pair look to him. ''Abigail, you have my word.''

''Just get me back my son...''

''I will get that boy back, so help me God. Right now.''

''Dutch!'' he looks up as the four of them approach their motorcycles, the rest of their group raising rushing towards them. ''Do you need extra guns?''

''Hell... why not?'' he asks. Bill and the others instantly move to their motorcycles as Hosea brushes past Arthur with John hot on his tail. Dutch turns to Kieran and Sadie, eyes on Micah. ''If anyone you don't know comes up this path, you shoot 'em!'' 

Kieran nods and Sadie cocks her shotgun while Micah sits down quietly and opens a bag of chips. 

''Rest of you-'' he pushes his revs his motorbike's engine, allowing the other's to hear it roar. ''-let's ride!''

Arthur swings his leg over his motorcycle and follows Dutch and Hosea's lead, the formation shifting in place behind them as they follow the road towards the Braithwaite manor, eyes hard and engines growling. His fingers grip the handlebars tightly as they roar up the road towards the Braithwaite manor, finding it's outside lights and cameras on, its gate left closed but unguarded. 

Dutch pulls them all off to the side and they each independently stand from their motorcycles, gripping their guns and feeling the weight of the insignia's on their backs. 

''First Sean, now Jack?'' Lenny asks quietly from beside Arthur. ''We should have stayed out of this.''

''Bit late for that now, ain't it?'' Bill asks him, fingers around his shotgun. 

''Quiet. All of you.'' Dutch orders. He slips his sunglasses into his breast pocket and unzips his coat, pulling his pistols from the holster around his underarms and allowing his waistcoat to shine. ''We're going to fix this  _right now_.''

Arthur grips his pistol, seeing Lenny's hands furl and unfurl from beside him as John takes the first step towards the manor. Dutch's hand on his shoulder stops him. 

''Are you sure you're okay?''

''I'm fine.'' John promises, but his voice is too gruff to be calm. 

''I need you focused, son.''

Dutch steps away, raising his pistols up and turning towards the gate. 

''Follow my lead.'' he says. ''These redneck families think that they can ruin us?  _I don't think so_.''

The gate is easily pushed open, the men forming a wall as they grasp their guns and march towards the doors. Braithwaite guards step out holding their own guns, Hosea slipping his rifle from his shoulder. 

''There they are.'' he states. 

''I'm gonna let fly at those sons of bitches.'' John barks through clenched teeth. 

''John, I need you to stay calm.'' Dutch tells him. He raises his chin to the home as they approach the unfinished fountain, shouting. ''Get down here now! You inbred trash!''

''What the  _hell_  do you want?'' the Braithwaite says. 

Dutch motions for Hosea and the rest to slow down, the older man listening to the order and gripping John by the back of his vest as Dutch takes several steps closer. 

'' _Easy_ , John.'' Hosea breathes. 

''We've come for the boy!'' Dutch announces, lowering his pistols. ''Must've known we would.''

''You shouldn't have messed with our business,'' the man says, followed by two others. ''Now should you?''

Dutch breathes in heavily through his nose. 

''Whatever complaint you  _have_  with us, alleged, or otherwise. That is a young boy. That is not the way you do things-hand him over.''

''Get the hell off our land!'' 

Several more Braithwaite guards exit the house through the balcony and front doors, pointing their guns down towards the bikers. The doors shut quietly behind them, a silent air other that crickets resting over them before Dutch purrs. 

''If you ain't gonna be civilized about this...'' He raises his pistols and kills the men in front of him, simply standing his ground and casually firing his gun off towards any man in front of him, shattering windows and bones as the rest of his men find cover behind the bags of cement and wrapped piping. 

Hosea clutches Dutch by the collar and drags him to cover as assault rifles begin raining bullets down on them, destroying the fountain base in the process and ripping the piping to shreds. Dry cement flakes explode over Arthur's head as he shoots from behind them with John at his side before the younger man. 

The men outside are shot and drop to the ground, either dead or writhing in pain as Dutch steps over them and orders Javier and Bill. 

''Arthur, Hosea, and John, you're with me.'' he says and he stomps up to the front door and shoves the heel of his boot into a Braithwaite's hand as he reaches for a gun. He shoulders the door open and Arthur shoots the two guards that peek out from behind the doorways.

''Get in there!'' Dutch shouts. ''Find Jack, and find that Braithwaite woman!''

Arthur takes the left room, the sitting room, and steps over the body as he begins searching. John shouts for his son as Arthur leaves the sitting room with no sign of the boy. He kicks the door of the library down as he yells for Jack, raising his pistol and firing a single bullet into a Braithwaite's skull when the man tries jumping at him. 

''Arthur!'' Dutch continues shouting, the younger man hearing his voice cracking. ''Get up here and give us a hand!''

''Barricaded...'' he hears Hosea struggling as he rushes up the steps towards the other two men. ''This must be where they're holed up...''

Arthur reaches them, Hosea and Dutch shouldering the door together as they yell for the young boy. A gunshot breaks a hole in the door, the two oldest pressing themselves against the wall to avoid the bullet landing in either of them. 

''We got more down here!'' someone shouts from outside. 

''John, Arthur, you help them out there. We got this door covered!''

He and John use the columns as protection, reloading their guns before firing at the oncoming onslaught of Braithwaite guards and sons shooting equally powerful assault rifles and shotguns at them. Hosea tosses him his high powered rifle, taking his pistol in return as Arthur aims it towards the trucks filled with men, firing and destroying windows as well as lodging bullets into the sides of heads and doors. 

''There's more coming from the right, in the fields!'' John shouts over the gunfire. 

Arthur follows him to the edge of the balcony where they release their bullets over the fields, watching the Braithwaite's drop. The rest begin running away, bullets following them as John turns to the door behind him and begins pushing on it to try and get into the room where Jack could be. 

Arthur presses his shoulder against it, nodding to the younger man before they both begin pushing their weight against it, hearing something crack and break until they shove the doors open and lift their guns. Two Braithwaite's hop over a turned over dresser for cover, but not until John's bullets hit them and throw them to the ground. The Braithwaite sons lay motionless on the floor as Hosea grunts his way through the door, toppling the armoire that had been pushed up against it.

He stumbles in with Arthur's pistol in his hand, Dutch following him inside with one pistol back in its holster. The three step out of the way as Dutch's dark eyes roam around the room, landing on closed closet doors. He kicks them in, the Braithwaite woman screaming her protests as he rushes her inside of the walk-in closet and proceeds to throw her out by her arm. 

The president shoves her against the wall and reveals his intricately designed pistol to her, Hosea standing at his side as John rifles through the room to try and find Jack. 

''You want me to kill you too, old woman?'' Dutch asks her. 

''You bastards!'' she shouts, eyes landing on her dead sons. She steps forward to try and cradle them as Hosea speaks.

''Where's the boy?'' He asks, gripping her by the shoulder and slamming her back against the wall.

''We have lived in this house for centuries and had no problems 'cept for-''

''Where is the boy!?'' Hosea asks firmly, Dutch pressing the barrel of his gun into the woman's throat. ''Who took him?''

''You killed my sons.'' she wails, eyes shutting. 

''Oh and I will surely kill the rest of them unless you start talkin'.'' Dutch promises, cocking the pistol. 

''I know your type.'' she opens confident eyes towards the dark haired man. '' _Common scum_.''

Dutch brings the pistol back from her throat and steps in closer, his breath causing the locks of hair fallen from her bun to brush back while Hosea tightly grasps her wrist and keeps her against the green wallpaper. 

'' _Where is the boy?_ '' he asks, quiet and growling. 

''You  _filth_.'' she spits.

''Alright,'' he grabs her by the shoulder and steers her from the wall as Arthur steps around her dying sons and Hosea heads for the bedroom door. ''We get her out of here.''

''What about them?'' he asks, gesturing to the two men as Dutch wraps her arm around the woman's throat and aims his pistol to the men on the floor. He pulls the trigger and causes the Braithwaite brains to splatter, the mother screaming and sobbing as he drags her out, lifting her off of her feet. 

Arthur checks outside on the balcony where he and John had pushed through for any lights, either belonging to curious cars and trucks or the police, but he sees nothing, not even a helicopter's search light. 

''Let's get this hag outside.'' Dutch says as the younger man follows him. ''Any more of her sons to deal with?''

''No, I reckon you killed all of 'em.''

The woman wails, gripping the stair banister as Dutch pulls her down, ripping her away from it. 

Arthur smells smoke and sees John and Hosea lighting the place on fire. 

''That's right,'' Dutch says, gripping the Braithwaite woman by the hair and dragging her down the stairs, her hands desperately clawing at the back of his hand. ''Burn this dump to the ground!''

Smoke and flames lick out from the kitchen, a burnt figure staggering out from the dining room where John walks backwards from with matches in his hands. 

''Are you sure Jack ain't in here?'' Dutch asks. 

Hosea throws his matches into the sitting room, looking over his shoulder as the burnt body drops to the floor. 

''We searched everywhere, Dutch.'' Hosea answers, listening to something in the sitting room explode. The Braithwaite woman hits the floor in front of her dead son's body, weeping at his loss before Dutch scoops her up and laughs. 

Arthur covers his mouth as they walk out through the smoke, the younger man stepping out of the way outside as Dutch carries the woman out on his shoulder and proceeds to dump her on the brick pathway as if she was a bag of trash per her request.

''There you go,'' Dutch steps back, shrugging his shoulders and looking up at the manor in front of them that was beginning to slowly break down, piece by piece. The woman continues sobbing, her rage and grief stricken tone

''I never liked you...'' she grumbles, lifting her head from the grass. 

''Why'd you take the boy, Mrs. Braithwaite?'' Hosea asks as he stands over her. 

''You stole my liquor-''

''Boys are off limits.''

''You stole my horses! There ain't no rules in war mister...''

'' _Matthews_.''

''Yes, yes that's it.'' she turns onto her side, looking up at the barrel of Dutch's pistol. 

''Where's the boy?'' Hosea asks again. 

She rolls over onto her back and sits up, leaning back on her hands as she sends an angered glare around to each of them. 

''My sons gave him to Angelo Bronte, so my guess is San Francisco. Either there or on the boat to Italy!'' She has it in her to laugh as Hosea straightens his back and looks through the smoke at Dutch. 

''Let's go!'' Hosea orders the younger men, each of them turning away from the flames and the catastrophe as Dutch orders Arthur along. 

''What we doin' with her?'' he asks, stepping around her and giving her the full view of her family's mansion burning to the ground. 

''Leave her.'' Dutch tells him, Arthur joining his predecessors on the road towards their motorcycles. 

''I told you she was crazy.'' Hosea says. 

He hears the fire cracking and burning, the woman wailing growing more distant as they march to their motorcycles without looking back. 


	22. Fog City by the Bay

''Do you got a plan, Dutch?'' he asks the older man. 

They've taken refuge in the manor he and Lenny attacked weeks prior, Bill setting up a fire pit as Arthur and Dutch walk from the front doors. 

''I think it's time we took that ride together, Arthur.''

Dutch leads him onto the freeway, both getting stopped by traffic in the struggle to get into the big city. 

''Molly's been callin' me nonstop.'' Dutch tells him, bringing his legs closer to the bike as he rests his wrists over the wide handlebars. ''Everythin' that I got goin' on, and she wants to talk.''

Arthur sees his reflection in the older man's red glasses before they turn away again, Dutch watching the red headlights in front of him. 

''Are you two okay?'' he asks him. 

''I got far more important things to worry about right now than Molly O'Shea.''

''So, where are we goin'?''

''To one of America's big cities, San Francisco.'' they pull forward some before Dutch decides to cut the traffic. Arthur pulls up beside him once they reach the turn off from Oakland into the big city, the traffic there thoroughly fucked and barely moving. 

They roll forward by a mile an hour. 

''It was good work finding that place.'' Dutch tells him, referring to the manor house that the gang was now holed up in. ''You and Lenny did good.''

''It was mainly Summers.'' he responds. 

''How's John?''

''He's taken it hard, as you'd expect.'' Arthur responds, watching the cars and trucks moving around them. 

''We're goin' to get that boy back, no matter what it takes. I'll need you to start asking around the city after Bronte, subtly, of course. Public places. Bars, anyone that can put us in contact with him.''

''Of course. And what about the feds? We caused a ruckus back there in the Braithwaite manor.''

''I'm fairly sure nobody followed us. We moved out fast after that mess, so we should be safe for a few days here.''

''And then?''

''I think we need to move a little further. We need to put some ocean between us and all of this. This mess with those two families, Sean getting shot, Jack bein' kidnapped. It might come back to Arizona to bite us in the ass, Arthur. I see things differently now. I used to truly believe that our future laid ahead of us in Oregon where we could plant some seeds, get the Van Der Linde name out and put a base there, too. But I just... don't know anymore.''

''We're leavin' the country now?''

''Maybe. I'm still thinkin' about it. We're not going anywhere until Sean is safely healed back at the clubhouse. It was kind of Mrs. Adler to drive him all the way home for us.''

''He's got Ms.Grimshaw and Karen to worry about him back home, he'll be fine.''

''Whatever we do, though, we'll need more money.''

''We've already got thousands back at the clubhouse, Dutch. Not to mention the money we still got rollin' in from our dealin's with the cartels and the weapons traders. The garage back in Arizona, its still pullin' in cash.''

''I know. But to get almost twenty people out of the country is going to take a lot more than a few thousand, Arthur. In any case, we have more pressing matters to attend to first.''

They pull onto the bridge over the bay, Arthur raising his eyes to the skyline in the stopped traffic to look up to the buildings staggeringly high over their heads, fog surrounding them and leaving a solemn gray color washed over the landscape. 

''There she is...'' Dutch mutters, the younger man seeing him grip the handlebars in the corner of his vision. 

''Big cities they're...''

''Always repellent?'' He turns his eyes to the older man and nods, Dutch turning his bike away from the younger man to cut through traffic. ''I'll find you in there, son. Go see what you can figure out.''

He asks who he can once he finally gets into the city, approaching people who are lesser inclined to pull a gun or a knife on him if he shows that he's being too nosy. Arthur gets directed to a place called  _Bourbon and Branch_ , a bar close to the Oakland bay bridge. He parks some distance down the road before heading up to the doors, stopping as something pokes into his hip. 

''Stick 'em up, cowboy.''

Arthur raises his hand before he hears Dutch's breathy laugh, listening to it turn into a chuckle as he looks over his shoulder at the older man. He watches him stick his knife back into his jacket as he smiles. 

''Real funny, Dutch.'' he says as a cable car passes them. 

''Oh, I thought so!'' Dutch responds before hooking his arm over the younger man's shoulder. ''Here we are, in the great land of San Francisco.''

''Yeah, cities all look the same to me. So, how'd you get on?''

''Just fine. I've been askin' around about Mr.Bronte,'' he pulls his arm from Arthur's shoulder. ''And from what I've heard, this establishment is our best lead, but I haven't had any joy in there so far.''

''So I should give it a shot?''

Dutch nods.

''I think so-'' he raises a finger. ''-just keep it cool.''

''You know me.''

''I'll meet you back here, anon.''

The older man steps back as Arthur pushes the door of the bar open and allows himself inside. It's dim and dark, the blinds are kept shut to give an older time feel while weak white lights around the establishment light his way. It's made of red walls, dark wood, and old metal barstools from sometime in the eighteen hundreds, or before that. The wall decorated with bottles is made from sandy brick, white lights hung above it. 

A few glances are shot his way as he approaches the bar with cool features and pulls cash from his pocket. 

''Good afternoon, sir.'' the bartender says, nodding to him. 

''Hello.'' he responds. 

''What can I interest you in?''

''Whisky, I suppose.''

The man nods and reaches behind himself, grabbing a bottle. 

''Is this your first time in here?'' 

Arthur is busy staring up at the shard chandelier, eyes roaming towards the uplifted side of the establishment before he responds. 

''Uh, yeah.'' the glass of whisky is set on the counter and he hands his cash over. 

''You like Canadian whisky?''

''I never tried it.'' he wraps his fingers around the glass. 

''It's good stuff, sir. I'm sure you'll enjoy it.''

Arthur takes a sip and cringes, swallowing the drink and feeling it warm his stomach once it lands. The man beside him swallows his own drink loudly, gulping and gasping when he brings his mouth from his glass. 

''What brings you in here, sir?'' the bartender asks. ''Did you hear good things?''

''Great things. But, that ain't the only reason why I'm here.'' he says, handing an extra amount of cash over to the bartender. ''Here, drink some yourself.''

The bartender raises his eyes to him and sets his towel aside that he was going to use to wipe the bar down, getting himself a glass of whisky to share with the biker. He clinks their drinks together and sips it, swallowing it and showing no change in his expression as Arthur begins talking again. 

''Have you heard of a man named Angelo Bronte?''

The bartender stops, lowering the glass from his mouth and setting it on the bar. 

''Who's asking?''

''Me. I'm askin'.''

''No, leave it, friend.''

''What you mean, leave it?''

''Look, I don't know what kind of business you're in, and I don't really care that much, either. But leave it, friend. You and your pal that were in here before.''

Arthur stands from his leaning position against the bar and takes another gulp of his drink before setting the glass down, dropping extra dollars beside it as a tip as he turns away and begins approaching the exit. 

Footsteps follow him and a hand clasps over his bicep, the man that had been standing beside him at the bar before asking 'Bronte?' as he stops Arthur at the doors. 

''Angelo Bronte?'' the man asks as Arthur gently pushes his hands off and steps closer to the doors. ''Mister Big? Mister Italian-spaghetti-eating-long-streak-of-piss-big? Ah, he makes my skin crawl, swarthy cocksucker.'' the biker pushes the doors open and steps back out on the street, Dutch nowhere in sight. ''You know what I mean, friend?''

He stops in front of the bar as the man breathes the smell of alcohol onto him. 

''Where can I find him?'' 

''He-he's got a big home, but I don't know where. I reckon you talk to them kids in the alley, they're always causing problems about here. Just-just there. You'll find 'em there.'' he points to the break between the two buildings and Arthur nods to him, approaching the alley. ''And friend, you-you be careful now! That Italian fuck ain't to be trusted.''

He follows the alleyway behind the bar and finds a couple chatting, interrupting their talk to ask after the kids. The woman points to where he could go and Arthur thanks her, listening to the man try and grab her attention again as the biker heads for the part of the alleyway she promised they would be. 

Arthur rounds the corner and finds two kids leaning against a wall, talking with one another as a third blasts music out of his speakers. 

''Hey, mister,'' one kid says, the biker stopping. ''You got any cigarettes?''

''Maybe.'' he says. 

''Huh?'' the music is turned down as he faces the kids. 

''I'm lookin' for a man named Angelo Bronte, I heard you might be able to take me to 'im. Italian?''

''I know him-'' a kid in red steps closer. ''-everyone knows him!''

''Where is he?''

''We'll take you to him.'' the first kid speaks again. ''But for a price.''

''I reckon I can pay.'' he answers as the kid in red shoves the one with the speaker away from him. 

''A hundred dollars.''

''Where he live? New York?''

''I said it would cost ya.''

''Twenty.''

''Ninety.''

''Thirty.

''Eighty-five.''

''Thirty-five.''

''Eighty.''

''Forty.''

''Eighty.''

''Forty-five.''

''Seventy?''

''Forty-five.''

The kid holds out his hands and Arthur pulls money from his jacket pocket, pushing the backpack on his shoulders out of the way before he hands it over to the skinny little punk and watches the kid grin before he motions the older man on. 

''Come on then, mister.''

Arthur sends glances to both the kids around him, moving his wallet to his jacket pocket instead as the two larger ones trail behind him. The kid begins pointing out sights and buildings, giving a vast explanation before he hears something being cut and his backpack is suddenly pulled from his shoulders. 

''You little shits!''

He runs after the kid that stole it off of him, watching him jump on to the back of a small cart that the kid with the speaker was behind the wheel of. It crashes at the end of the street and forces the thief onto the cable car that rushes past, Arthur turning and grabbing a bicycle off of someone to follow. He rides behind the trolley, the kid shouting something at him that he can't hear before the cable car stops and the teen jumps off, Arthur hopping off of the bike and stumbling over it in his chase. 

The kid shoves a man back and the guy points him on where to go, Arthur thanking him quickly as he runs through a courtyard between apartments. 

''Aren't you gettin' tired yet, old man?'' the kid shouts as he runs off, Arthur seeing his figure blur before he runs after him. 

He watches where the kid turns and raises his eyes to the wall beside him, sliding to a halt before he jumps the wall and drops into a personal back yard, jumping the next one and landing on the sidewalk. Arthur raises his eyes and hears the teens taunting yells as he races up the stairs of the apartments and uses the balconies to hop onto the roof, sliding off and landing on the sidewalk before the biker tackles him and grips him by the collar of his shirt. 

''Give me my things back, you little shit!'' he shouts. 

''I'm good, I swear!'' the teen answers, gripping Arthur's wrist. 

''Give me my things.'' he growls. The teen raises the bag back to him and he rips it from his grip. ''Bronte?''

''At home.''

''Where?''

''Big house, out near the bay in San Rafael. He's either there or at his penthouse in the city.''

''Where's his penthouse?''

''Near the Yerba Buena center for the arts.''

''And his big house?''

The kid spews out a location and Arthur drops him, stepping away and lifting his bag as the teen laughs.

''Welcome to San Francisco, mister. It's quite a place.'' the kid laughs. 

''Get lost.'' he orders. He watches the teen high tail it as he wraps his fingers around the handle of his bag, hoisting it over his shoulder and dragging himself back to the bar when he gets a text from Dutch to meet him at one of the piers.

He finds the older man resting on a park bench in front of the water beside the pier, a smoke in his hand and ash falling from it as he calls him over to his seat. 

''Where have you been?'' Dutch asks, dragging on his cigar. 

''Gettin' robbed.''

The older man leans forward, breathing smoke from his mouth. 

''Who by?''

''Bunch of children...''

Dutch chuckles, standing from his seat. 

''I won't ask anymore.''

''But, I found Mr.Bronte.'' Arthur says. ''He seems to be some Italian mister big here in town. Everybody knows him, but no one wants to talk about him. Apparently he lives in some big mansion out in San Rafael, somewhere on the water. That, or he's workin' out of his penthouse here in the city.''

''Huh. Good work.''

''What now?''

''I'll get John, you meet us there. Whatever it takes, we _will_  get that boy back.''

-

_I cannot decide which I like less._

_The city or the slum towns surrounding it._  

_Both are filled with rats, insects, and trash. We're a long way North from what we know, and far from real open country._


	23. Men of Honor

John and Dutch are speaking quietly on the steps opposite of Bronte's mansion about Abigail having driven up from Arizona to their camp in search of Jack herself when Arthur approaches them, the youngest man refusing to raise his eyes to the president gang member as he forces a stick into the gaps between the steps. 

''There you are.'' Dutch states as he looks up to the road captain. 

''You boys ready?'' he asks as his eyes train on the back of John's oily hair. 

''Of course.'' the older man stands, John following as they walk down the pathway towards the large mansion. ''What else do you know about this guy?''

''Not much. Just that he's some slick, little, greasy-haired European who's clearly got power and money. Now, listen, if we go in there and start shootin' up the place, the boy's gonna get shot. That I can guarantee. Feller like this, he's gonna have  _a lot_  of protection.''

''Ain't no one gonna get shot, Arthur, so everyone just relax. We'll charm him. Trust me. This the place?''

He raises his eyes to the detailings on the walls along with the spiral facade's and vines growing up the wall. His eyes follow the more vintage structure and large intricate gates keeping them out. 

''Must be.'' he answers. 

''You okay, John?'' Dutch asks. 

''I guess.'' he responds. 

A man is standing at the gates, his attention captured by the three rough looking, leather wearing bikers who were obviously aiming for the mansion in front of them. He stands on the other side of the bars with his arms behind his back, Arthur unable to see who his eyes were landing on in the dark. 

''Excuse me, sir,'' Dutch says, meandering closer to the gates ''We have an appointment to see Mr. Bronte.''

''Who are you?'' a thick accent interrogates before Dutch grabs him by the shirt and pulls him closer, slamming him into the bars. He holds his pistol to him and lets go, stepping back. 

''You get your boss down here, and now so we can talk about this like gentlemen.'' He holsters his gun and drags the man to stand from between the bars, pushing him back. ''Run along now, boy.''

The man turns to fetch his boss, the gang president giving a low whistle to capture his attention, holding the guard's gun up to him. The younger man rips it away angrily before stomping up to the home, John coming to Dutch's side. 

''Is that the special Dutch charm I've heard so much about?'' he asks. 

''Relax...'' Dutch tells him, raising his hands as Bronte's men begin. ''I got this...''

The gates are opened and they walk in a single line, guns raised to them as John leads them inside. More guards await them within, gripping their guns and watching the bikers before a barked order has them stepping inside the mansion's entertainment room. 

A man sits in a gold and velvet robe, eating something with a glass beside him. He looks at them from the end of his nose, sneering as he speaks to the guard at his side in a language none of them understand but Dutch interrupts him. 

''Why do you take his son?''

''Excuse me?'' the Italian sits forward, setting his bowl on his intricate table. 

''I said, why did you take his son?'' Bronte breathes in and the guard at his bookshelf slowly raises the end of his rifle towards them, Dutch raising his hands again as he does so. ''We ain't got a problem with you, sir, nor you with us. But if you wanna start one, there's gonna be a lotta folks dead in this room before its done.''

Arthur watches him step back and give himself a wide berth, hands at the ready to grab his guns and shoot if necessary. 

''You walk into  _my_  city, into  _my_  home, smelling like shit and looking like this-'' he gestures towards them. ''-and you come without taking a bath, and you tell  _me_  how to act? You ask me to show compassion. Have I not shown you infinite compassion already by simply allowing you to breathe in my presence?''

He stands ready with his own gun as Dutch allows the words sink in, seeing his hands raise in the corner of his eye. 

''Indeed you have.'' the older man answers, nodding as he moves around to the sofa opposite Bronte. ''Now, we are simply country folk. All we have is each other, and you have gone, and you have took  _his son_ -'' he points to John. ''-over some dispute between some inbred racists. It ain't got  _nothin'_  to do with any one of us.''

''You had nothing to do with destroying the liquor business?'' Bronte asks sternly, words spitting from his mouth. 

''We were innocent bystanders,'' Dutch laughs. ''And that which we weren't so innocent of, well we, we most surely were ignorant of.''

Bronte lets an angered breath hiss between his teeth. 

''Oh, you-you-you twist words, you lie shamelessly, you think that you are better than everyone else...'' he begins laughing, stating something in Italian as the stern air around them dissipates. He stands, offering his hand from which Dutch follows and shakes, laughing with him. ''Angelo Bronte.''

''Dutch van der Linde,'' Dutch motions to Arthur who's pushing his gun back in his belt. ''Arthur Morgan-''

''Arthur, the pleasure is mine.'' he only nods, moving from the Italian towards Dutch who stays standing in front of the sofa as Bronte shakes hands with John. Arthur sits uncomfortably between the older man and John as drinks are handed to them on a platter. 

Dutch continues his conversation with Bronte as the road captain stares at the glass he took, John doing the same as the two older men continue blabbering on, trying to strike a deal in the middle. 

''I'll tell you what,'' Bronte clasps his hands together. ''You do something for me and you get the boy back.''

''What is it?'' Dutch asks. 

''We've been having issues with the local cemetery being vandalized. I assume its only the children, but children that need to be taught a lesson, but I cannot be sure. If you do this for me and teach them the greater good, you will get the boy back.''

''All we got to worry about is some kids?'' John asks. 

''As I said, I cannot be sure.'' Bronte answers. ''You two head off and you, Mr. van der Linde, you can teach me more about my manners.''

They're escorted from the home by a guard as Dutch clinks glasses with the Italian, walking to their motorcycles down the road in shared silence. Arthur revs his bike as John swings his leg over his own, reversing from his spot. 

''D'you know where the cemetery is?'' Arthur asks. 

''I think so. I'm pretty sure I rode past it on the way here with Dutch. ''

''You know, you did pretty good in there. Holdin' your tongue, I mean.''

''Do you trust  _one word_  out of that bastard's mouth?'' They pull onto the road, growling away from the mansion behind them. ''We don't even know where Jack  _is_.''

''Listen, we found Bronte, we got in there, Dutch is with him now. All things considered, it could've gone a lot worse.''

''That poor kid...'' John steers away towards the cemetery. ''I hope... he's okay. I ain't been a good father to him...''

''He'll be fine.'' the older man promises. ''I figure the Braithwaite's were gonna hold Jack ransom for all the money  _we_  cost 'em. They must have sent him here so we couldn't get to him.'' Arthur leads the motorcycles into the cemetery parking lot and raises his eyes to the headstones and the grass shining under the moonlight. ''But Bronte knows by now that there's no Braithwaite's left to pay 'im. Jack ain't much use to him anymore. Let's just... get this done, get back to Dutch and let the old man handle the rest.''

They park their motorcycles and turn them off, John standing from his bike. 

''I just hope you're right.''

They head into the cemetery, Arthur pointing John one way as he goes the other, following a trail of trash through the grounds only to find a dog yipping at a tree. He pats its head and shoos it off before turning back to find John once more, the younger man motioning him on when he hears something. 

They peek around the corner only to find a drunk man blabbering to a headstone, standing and stumbling when he notices the bikers watching him. He gives a quick apology, and explanation on his friend's death before staggering away with his bottle still in his hand. 

John shares a glance with the older man until a noise disrupts them, the sound of cans dropping and laughing following. The bikers move forward quickly, checking around the church to see a group of men grabbing spray paint cans and ripping the caps off. Arthur pulls his gun from his belt and the younger man follows, both making their presence known from the shadows of the church. 

Surprised eyes raise to them and Arthur slowly cocks his gun, threatening them to get the hell out of the cemetery or they would have issues. One reaches for his jacket suddenly and brandishes his own gun, John firing and shooting it from his grip. Arthur steps back behind the church as John dives behind a tall headstone, both firing at the desecraters. They drop, crying and wailing as one chokes on his blood on the ground before John warns of a fourth somewhere trying to lead them out in the open. 

Arthur handles him, threatening him when he finds him and taking his gun for good measure before demanding that he runs and doesn't even think of ever coming back. He watches him high tail it before John arrives with a bag of cash and jewelry, holding it up to Arthur. 

''I think this is their stash.'' John says. Arthur drops his arm and looks over, eyes peering inside the cloth bag. 

''Are they robbin' graves too?'' he asks. 

''I ain't sure.'' the other responds and shrugs. ''Either way, we did what Bronte told us to do.''

Arthur nods. 

''Let's get back, then. Before any cops show up.''

John ties the bag closed and slings it over his shoulder, both jogging back to their bikes and riding out of there, leaving the flashing red and blue lights behind as the sirens become nothing but distant wail. He leads them back out towards the mansion, looking over his shoulder to make sure the younger was with him and the cruisers were a good distance away. 

''Well, its a damn good thing I ain't a religious man.'' Arthur says as John pulls up to his side, both riding at a steady speed. 

''Let's just get back there and collect our side of the deal.'' John answers, knuckles whitening as he grips the handlebars of his bike. 

''You alright?''

''He best not be playin' games with us.''

''He almost certainly is, but lets just see. Keep your head, act normal.''

''How is he gonna know we even did what he asked?''

''I got a feelin' that most things 'round here get back to him pretty fast. Like I said, we'll just see where we're at once we've got Jack.''

Arthur pulls up to the front of the mansion on his motorbike, John stopping a few feet behind him. The older man approaches the gates and the guard from before, now with a bandage over his nose and bruising rising on his skin, opens it and Dutch appears at the steps. 

''Well...'' he says, stepping down. ''You took your time, didn't you? ''

Jack spots his father and begins running forward, dressed in some perm-pressed suit. 

''Jack!''

''Papa!'' 

''Where's your host?'' Arthur asks as he watches John lean down to scoop his son up, raising him and smiling up at him with grateful eyes. 

''Like I said,'' Dutch answers. ''You took your time. Let's get goin'.''

''Am I glad to see you.'' John tells his son, Jack wrapping his arms around his father's neck as Arthur tosses the bag of stolen goods over to the guard at the door, following each of them from the property.

''Hey, friend?'' Dutch approaches the gate guard. ''Tell Mr.Bronte thank you, for everything.''

John fusses over his son and Jack shies away from worried hands, pointing to the new shoes on his feet and describing the bath he was given and all of the bubbles that had towered high in the tub. 

''I had Arancini!'' Jack exclaims, John securing his helmet onto the boy's head before taking his hand and leading him to their motorbikes. 

''What?''

''Something fried! Like mozzarella sticks but in balls-'' Jack makes a circle with both of his hands, raising his eyes to uncle Arthur. ''-it had peas and pasta sauce like mom makes and something else. But it was really good!''

''I-uh-I'm sure it was.'' 

''You know, Arthur-'' Dutch stops beside his motorcycle as John helps his son onto his own behind them. ''-Mr.Bronte has invited us to a garden party at the mayor's house. And us, just some simple country folk.''

He lets out a laugh as John starts his motorcycle, Arthur hopping on his own and hearing little Jack continue describing what fun he had at 'papa Bronte's house' which his father doesn't appreciate but when he promises that he'll get him back to his mom the next morning Jack cheers happily. 

''Go faster, papa!'' Jack tells him, the three of them already pushing the speed limit to get the young boy back to the old manor house. 

''You had a nice night, then?'' Arthur asks Dutch as the father-son duo rides behind them. 

''Most enjoyable...'' Dutch responds. ''Well the man's an intolerable blowhard but he stocks a fine bar. How did you fellers get on? Any troubles?''

''It weren't too bad, but we just about doubled the population of that graveyard.''

''You know, I thought I heard gunshots but the radio was playin'.''

''Tch,  _unbelievable_.''

''Each to their strengths, Arthur. I went in there with a gun and left with a party invitation.''

''What'd you say it was? A garden party?''

''A big gala at the mayor's house. I'm told every rich fool stretching from Los Angeles to Sacramento will be there.''

''And Bronte?''

''Oh, he'll be there. He more or less runs San Rafael and the San Francisco police force. At least, that's the way he sees it.''

Bill shouts when the bikes roar onto the mansion grounds, stopping some feet from the doors. 

''I think I see Jack!'' Williamson continues. 

''We got the boy!'' Dutch answers, stepping from his motorcycle as Jack and John pull to a stop beside the big white chopper. ''Everything-''

''We got him!'' John shouts, turning his motorbike off as Abigail comes rushing out the doors. Dutch swallows his words as Jack convinces his mother that he was fine, Abigail lifting him from the ground and hugging him tightly. 

''Come here you silly boy.'' Abigail says around her tears, Arthur stepping from his motorbike and watching Dutch wheel his own away from the family reunion. 

''I ate lots of Italian food.'' Jack informs her. ''Have you ever had that? They teached me lots of words too.''

Abigail laughs, setting her son on his own two feet again and he grasps for her pantleg. 

''You got him, you got my son.'' she says, looking between John and Arthur. ''Dutch, Arthur, thank you.''

''Jack, Jack, Jack,'' Hosea kneels beside him as the rest gather to greet the young boy, Abigail still holding his small hand. ''How are you?''

''I'm fine, thanks. Can I go play now?''

Hosea allows him to go, watching him run off to get changed as he approaches the three men. 

''So?'' he asks, raising his eyes to Dutch. ''How did it go?''

''We met Mr.Bronte.'' Dutch answers. ''He is quite a character.''

''Is he now?''

''You ever meet an Italian strongman before?''

''Not outside of a circus.'' Hosea looks between the two younger men standing at the ready beside Dutch's shoulders. 

''Well,'' the president pats his friend's shoulder. ''Let me tell you all about him. John,'' he turns to him. ''You go and be with your family.''

''Of course, Dutch.''

''Arthur-'' he's pulling a cigarette from his pocket. ''-thank you.''

He nods. 

''We have work to do!'' Dutch laughs, walking towards the manor with Hosea at his shoulder. ''We got Jack back!''

''The boy's safe, that's what matters right now.'' Hosea reminds him. 

''Arthur...'' the older man beside John toys with the idea of lighting his cigarette, pressing the butt end against his lips as John struggles to find the proper words to display his thanks. ''Thank you, I-'' he clears his throat, swallowing before turning his eyes to the older biker. ''I don't know how to say it. Thank you.''

He nods in response, pulling the unlit cigarette away from his mouth. 

''I understand.'' he tells him. ''Come on,'' he motions them forward and begins walking. ''Do as Dutch says. Go be with your family.''

He watches John split off towards his family, fingers pinching the cigarette until he drops it on the ground to join in the party.

 


	24. One and All

He meets a man in San Francisco. A young man hoping to become a priest with dreams and hopes extending until the ends of his days. He's standing on a street corner in front of a busy store asking for people to help the poor, gesturing to the donation box at his side.

''Kind sir,'' the man asks, eyes looking up at Arthur who has his hands shoved into his pockets as he was toying with the idea of entering the shop. ''Spare some cash for the needy and hungry?''

''I ain't so kind.''

''Yes you are, sir. I can see it in you, I can tell.''

''I'm a nasty bit of work, father.''

''You're wrong on two counts, sir. I'm but a humble brother. A penitent monk, not a priest, and you're a magnificent piece of work. You may have made some-some poor choices in your life, but which of us haven't?''

Arthur chuckles.

''You have no idea.'' he answers, leaning against the wall beside the monk.

''But you do, and God does, and that's enough for me and for him.''

He nods, the monk's eyes roaming over the people that simply pass him and his signs asking for donations.

''We shall see.''

''That we shall.'' the monk turns to him. ''So why don't you do your part and give some to the poor? There are many that will go hungry tonight.'' He pulls his wallet from his pocket and drops cash inside the money bin. ''Bless you, sir.''

''How you gettin' on, anyhow?''

''These people are an apathetic lot, I'm afraid.'' the monk gestures to the groups that pass without a second glance.

''My uhm... my mentor says that America is designed to induce apathy in people.''

''That's a wonderful insight.'' the monk answers, looking around the building. ''He must be a wise man, your mentor.''

Arthur laughs.

''Well sometimes he's a downright fool, but, yeah... usually he's the best man I know.''

''That's wonderful.'' the biker nods. ''The thing is I'm... well, poverty will always be with us but human trafficking, I thought we had banished that.''

The biker leans over to try and find what the monk was so interested in down the alleyway stores.

''This city, its constantly moving. The trains, the cars, the trolleys and the people... we're constantly making bigger and better things but with so much movement, you sometimes don't see the real important stuff.''

''What's wrong?''

''There's a store-'' the monk looks back to him. ''-an antique store with the green door. It's only small, but they say that the owner sells more than forlorn trinkets.''

Arthur steps away, giving a nod and aiming for the green door in the strip mall. It's window has gold letters painted on the front, giving the name and it's surrounded by old clutter with some type of worth. Arthur pushes the door open and the strong smell of dust and old paper fills his nose as a light bell chimes above his head.

''Hello!'' someone says, accent thick. ''Welcome!''

He raises his eyes to them momentarily before glancing over to the back of the small store, ignoring the lamps, chairs, painting and sculptures littered about. The small room in the back has an old bookshelf standing in the midst, pressed against the wall and dressed with books covered in a thick layer of dust. The wooden floor is scratched as if the shelf has been dragged backwards and pushed forwards a numerous amount of times.

The biker heads straight for it, looking the shelf up and down.

''Oh, there's nothing back there!'' the owner says. ''Just old, boring books.''

He glares at him and reaches for the cleanest book on the shelf, a large, bright red one with black letters printed on the spine. Arthur pulls it back and something unlocks behind the shelf, the biker hooking his fingers around the back of it and dragging it forward. It opens up into a small hallway with stairs going downwards.

''Sir-'' Arthur raises his finger.

''You stay right there.'' he warns.

He drags himself down the steps and peers into the dark, shining his light inside to find two men flinching away from the bright light on their faces. Arthur lowers it and approaches them, one raising his eyes to him.

''Ah... hello?'' the young man asks. The other whispers something to him in a language Arthur doesn't understand. ''Help, please.''

He crouches beside the first one, the man writhing from him and he holds up his hands.

''It's okay.'' he promises. ''I ain't here to hurt you, I'm on your side. Let me get you out of those chains.''

His friend says something in Spanish and the man allows Arthur to free him before he moves towards the other, freeing him as well.

''It's goin' to be okay just... come with me, I'll get you help. Proper help.''

The men are frightened but they follow Arthur up the stairs and out of the store, wincing at the bright light above them and reaching for the biker for support as the stumble under the sun.

''Gracias, señor.''

''You'll be safe soon. Come on.''

He brings the two young men back to the monk from which Arthur raises his hand to him.

''Brother...?''

''Brother Dorkins, sir.''

''Arthur Morgan. I found these two in that shop like you had guessed I would.'' Arthur pushes them closer to the priest who's eyes run over their malnourished and bruised state.

''Oh my that's... well, they are blessed to have met you, Arthur.''

''Trust me, in that they're very unusual. I don't think they speak much English.'' the biker sighs and brushes past the three of them, standing next to Dorkin's donation bucket.

''My brothers, come. We must get something to eat. Manger? Comida...'' the men nod at his final word and he gestures in the direction that they were going to walk in. Arthur grabs the bucket and offers it back to the brother.

''Hey, you forgot this.'' Arthur holds it up, Dorkins turning and the men stopping as Arthur speaks.

''Oh yes thank you I,'' Brother Dorkins wraps his fingers around the edge of the bucket and the biker drops his hand. ''Here... payment, for your services. I could not have freed these men myself.''

Arthur stares at the cash inside and shakes his head, meeting the brother's eyes.

''Give it to the poor, brother. It don't have much use to me like it would them.''

The other's eyes and face brighten as they drag down to the money in the plastic bucket.

''I will... thank you. Like I said,'' he turns, moving the men along once more. ''Magnificent... come see me again sometime. I work often at Saint Peter's and Paul's Church located on Filbert and Powell street. It's across from Washington Square. You can't miss it.''

Arthur waves goodbye, watching Brother Dorkins corral the men along with the bucket still in his grip.

-

He follows Brother Dorkin's orders and decides to visit the church across from Washington Square, parking his motorcycle between the sidewalk and the bicycle locks not far from the large stone church. It's steeples reach into the sky, intricate statues and carvings shadowing the large front doors that resemble more of a chasm instead of an entrance.

Arthur finds a nun sitting on the steps with three boys and of separate ages and Brother Dorkins around her reading the same material. Or struggling to, at least. The nun is kind but firm with the boys about their education, reminding Arthur of Miss Grimshaw back in Arizona but less venomous as Brother Dorkins reads his Bible.

''I don't get it.'' one kid says.

''Oh, you will.'' the nun promises, kind eyes lifting to the boy's face. ''It's like swimming. It takes time, but then it is easy, and the whole world opens to you.''

''I hate this.'' the kid exclaims. ''It's too difficult.''

''Take your time.'' she encourages.

Arthur watches as the boy sighs and leans back over his book, attempting to read the words out.

''Goddammit.'' he says. ''What does that even mean?''

''Watch your language, please.'' Brother Dorkins states, explaining the word he was stuck on before the nun speaks again.

''Don't worry.'' she tells him. ''You understand the words, the letters, the sounds-you're nearly there!''

He watches the kid's shoulders slump before he decides to make his presence known.

''Mornin' to ya.'' he says. Brother Dorkins and the nun both raise their eyes, the monk standing and closing his book to greet Arthur.

''Sister, my friend, Mr.Morgan.''

The nun smiles and stands from between the boys, approaching Arthur and offering her hand.

''Oh... sir.'' he takes her hand as grateful eyes meet his. ''Brother Dorkins told me about the wonderful thing you did.''

''He talks a lotta nonsense.'' he answers, laughing nervously and dropping their hands. ''No offense.''

''None taken. None taken at all.'' Brother Dorkins finishes his sentence as a young boy runs with something shiny grasped in his hand. ''Hey! Stop!''

Arthur begins jogging away after the boy.

''Don't hurt him!'' the nun shouts after him. ''Please!''

He runs down the road, spotting a man holding his hand in front of a light pole where the kid had disappeared and he runs around him, the man shouting after the teen. Arthur continues, finding a mess in the wake of the boy's running until he spots him being grasped and thrown against a wall by an equally angered man.

''I saw you grab it-'' the man shouts.

''You don't know what you're talkin' about!''

''Hey-'' Arthur interrupts. ''-get off 'im.''

''And who are you?''

''Someone that can hit a lot harder than you, I can promise you that.'' Arther says. ''Leave the boy alone.''

The man debates between the two of them before he drops the boy and steps back, jabbing his finger at him.

''Next time I find you I won't go easy!'' he shouts. He quickly turns on his heel and stomps down the road as the teen shrugs his coat back into place and presses himself against the wall. ''Little shit ain't even worth my time...''

Arthur scoops the large golden crucifix up off the ground and wipes the dirt off as the teen thanks him and runs off to annoy someone else. He follows the streets back to the church where the books sit on the steps in a neat and organized stack, the nun and a priest standing together in the open doorway.

''Everyday used to be a challenge, father.'' he overhears her as he walks closer, crucifix gripped in hand. ''When I was younger, those challenges used to frustrate me...''

He comes into view and looks up to the two of them, the nun smiling as she sees him.

''Mr.Morgan!'' she exclaims.

''Excuse me, Father.'' he says, lifting the crucifix. ''Sister, I got your cross.''

She gasps, Arthur laying it in her open palms.

''You didn't!''

''I did.'' he responds, giving a small smile.

''Oh... I hope the boy-''

''He's fine. Physically. Mentally, he's a piece of work but... who am I to say?''

''Brother Dorkins was right about you,'' she holds her cross in front of her chest, the sculpted image of Jesus facing Arthur. ''You are the most wonderful man!''

The priest beside her nods with soft eyes as the nun leans closer for a hug.

''Brother Dorkins is...'' she wraps her arms around him, holding him in a warm embrace and forcing Arthur to hug her in return. ''Greatly deceived, I'm afraid but, I'm happy to help a little.''

He avoids the priest's eyes as the sister steps back, still smiling.

''Thank you. You see it's just a thing, but, my mother gave it to me when I was a novice shortly before she passed... you truly are the most wonderful man.''

Arthur gives a nod, not agreeing or disagreeing as he steps away.

''Excuse me, Father, Sister.''

''Brother Dorkins found him, Father.'' he hears her continue. ''I told you! Brother Dorkins is fantastic...''

-

He's playing a game of checkers with Hosea back at their camp, listening to the calm silence surrounding them and the slight click the pieces make when they hit the board before Arthur speaks.

''Have you heard anythin' on Sean's condition?''

''Yes. He's fine. Healing still, but he'll live.'' Hosea moves his piece forward. ''Abigail forced John to go back home with she and Jack so he's there at the clubhouse too.''

''He needs to spend more time with that boy. His woman, too.''

''I know. I think Jack being kidnapped really put everything into perspective for him-'' Arthur moves his own piece. ''-not to mention how much he's worrying now that the federal government is sniffing around our tracks.''

''We don't leave enough of a trail behind us, Hosea. We shouldn't be worryin'. Dutch knows what he's doin'.''

''My only concern is how far from home and familiar territory we are. This isn't our turf, and we've been making a right big spectacle of it the moment we landed.''

''What's Dutch's plan, anyways?''

''I can't be too sure just yet. Something to do with Bronte, that's for certain. We thought playing the Braithwaite's and the Grays was a solid plan at first-until we managed to burn everything to the ground and kill most of the Grays back in that town.''

''I mean, don't we have enough cash to lay low for a while? We had them savin's, we got those cars and sold 'em off... the horses, the truck we used to move the horses. The garage and we're still movin' drugs. Now Dutch has some plan to leave the country?''

''Dutch has begun to equate money with power, and you know how much he loves being in control. Having the upper hand, knowing how to play his cards and when to strike; it's in his blood, Arthur. But his worry with money and power may start to be getting to him.''

''If he'll listen to anyone, he'll listen to you.''

''I'm afraid he may be a bit too far out of reason as of right now. Even if it comes in the form of my words. I want us to go back home as much as you do, Arthur, don't worry. From you getting kidnapped to the shootout on that street- we're taking on a lot more than a group of us in unfamiliar territory should. But for right now we'll follow along.''

''Come on!'' Arthur hears, both raising their eyes from the checker board and snapping out of their conversation to see Dutch strolling from the mansion with a large smile plastered on his face. ''If we're gonna make it to this party, we sure as shit better clean up a little.''

''So we're actually doin' this?'' Arthur asks, standing from the table with Hosea and dropping his white pieces onto the board.

''Oh yeah.'' Hosea answers. ''Old friend Dutch van der Linde has finally shown his true colors-social climbing.'' he wheezes out a laugh as Dutch passes them both.

''Old Signor Bronte, the horrendous snake, has invited us to the party, Cinderella,'' Dutch looks to Arthur while Hosea comes to his shoulder around their small table. ''So my suggestion is we go and get you a gown.''

''Son of a bitch...''


	25. The Gilded Cage

They're laughing in the back of a limousine dressed in the finest suits they could afford; or con their way into affording. Bill has joined the three of them on this special escapade, cheering with glasses of champagne and wheezing together as the car rumbles on to the party. 

''We  _are_  ridiculous.'' Dutch says. 

''Utterly.'' Hosea answers as he coughs into his hand. 

''I ain't ever been to a ball in my life.'' Arthur speaks and watches Dutch reach for the bottle of champagne again. 

''Nor have I,'' the president says. ''If I am being honest.''

''I used to, quite often.'' Hosea explains, Dutch handing him a newly filled glass. ''There could be fine pickings.''

''No, no, no, no, no... no pickpocketing.'' Dutch states as the older man wraps his fingers around the stem of the glass. ''We are here to make  _real_  contacts.''

''What kind of contacts?'' Arthur asks 

''Well I don't know! We'll find what we can. All I do know for sure is we're going to a party at the mayor's house and the guest of honor is the worst crook in town!'' he causes another eruption of laughter. ''I am sure that we'll find something.''

''Okay!'' Arthur raises his half empty glass and cheers again as the rest around him laugh louder, glasses clinking. 

The limo stops out front of a small castle more than it is a house. It's pathway to the door is lined with strung-up lights and white canopies leading inside as a type of tunnel, any weapons confiscated and their invitations taken. 

They're lead to Bronte who's on the second floor balcony with a glass in his hand and three men surrounding him. They're able to look down to the courtyard below where the same gentle set of lights are strung up around the trees and above the food table. 

Arthur watches as he blabbers on about the disgusting men and women at the function, drags their names and their lives into the dirt and does it all with a smile on his rat-like face. He further insults people as he turns to Dutch, the men around him laughing loudly as he faces the gang president. 

''I see that you are very busy,'' Dutch says. ''I'll allow you to get back to it and go and join in the party.''

''Go,'' Bronte says. ''Go speak with these  _vulgar scum_. It'll make you long for the days when you could fuck cows and sheep out in the open range.''

Dutch's jaw quickly clenches and unclenches, eyes low. 

''Those sure were the days...'' he mutters. ''Good evening to you.''

He turns away and Arthur begins to follow him as the men joining Bronte snort and spew their drinks, Bronte stopping them.

''Before you go, what are your plans here?''

''We hadn't made any.'' Dutch answers and stops, looking to the younger biker beside him before he raises his eyes. ''Well...'' Arthur hears him stumble over his words before he straightens his spine and faces the Italian fully. ''We are going to need some money.''

''Money...'' Bronte nods, inhaling smoke from his cigar. ''Yes, of course. The historical trolley station, they keep a lot of cash there, you know- the tourists want a feel of the vintage side of this disease ridden city. But I could not involve myself in such matters, even if the manager of the place was defying me and running himself into the ground. But you, you could do it! As my guest, go on! Have fun.''

''Good evening.'' Dutch says a second time.

They're escorted from the Italians by one of the butlers, the man promising that he would escort them to the party. He leads them back down the stairs from the second floor, locking a partially open door before revealing them to the celebration downstairs. Dutch and Arthur thank him before raising their eyes to the event. 

''Have a wonderful evening gentlemen, and welcome to San Francisco.''

Dutch tips his hat and approaches Bill and Hosea by the stone banisters, a long stone staircase leading them down to the party on either side. 

''Gentlemen,'' he says. ''Let's go ingratiate ourselves. Arthur, you find the mayor, and stay outta trouble. And don't steal nothin' unless it's information.''

''Of course.'' he says, stepping away to head down the steps as Dutch asks Hosea to find them something to steal. 

He searches through the crowd for the mayor, hearing Bronte's insults echoing in his head as he mingles some with the guests, forcing himself to be more approachable. Arthur continues around the crowd, seeing different variations of a drunken fun on them as he hears Hosea bullshitting some explanation through his teeth as the ''sweet old man'' he'd grown to become. 

''Did you hear that the natives came all the way from their reservation just to complain?'' he hears as he passes a trio of men, glancing to them as he makes his way properly to the mayor to speak to him. 

''It ain't complex, Lemieux,'' someone is slurring to the mayor with a glass gripped in his hand as Arthur steps closer. ''And only a fool like you would try to make it so.''

''I would not deny idiocy, sir,'' the mayor answers. ''But perhaps now is not the time.''

The drunken man begins laughing. 

''Typical pansy!''

''You are drunk, Ferdinand.''

''I am not  _drunk_ , you fool, but this man-'' he lays his hand on the closest man's shoulder as he spews an insult. 

Arthur pats his arm and grips his wrist. 

''You are pretty drunk,'' he says, twisting his arm around his back and forcing him away from the group in front of the fountain. ''Why don't you and me cool off?''

''Get your hands off of me.'' 

Arthur shoves him from the party and the man stumbles away. 

''Sit down, and calm down. Count to a thousand, then you can rejoin the party.'' he says. Arthur turns back and approaches the mayor again, shaking his hand. 

''Thank you, sir,'' he says. 

''My pleasure.''

''Henri Lemieux. I hope you are enjoying my party.''

''The mayor?''

''Allegedly.'' the men around him laugh. 

''That's quite a place you got here.''

''It is not mine, and the city is horribly in debt but we can still put on a good show. Do you know Evelyn Miller?'' 

He gestures to the man beside him who offers his hand. 

''The writer?''

''It seems we have another drunkard on our hands.'' the man responds until fireworks erupt in the sky behind them. They each follow the mayor to get a closer look, a servant pushing his way through and alarmingly bringing Lemieux aside to speak to him in a hushed tone. Arthur moves closer to hear them over the explosions in the sky. 

''Mr. Cornwall was quite insistent, I'm afraid-'' he hears, eyes flicking upwards. ''-he shouted down the telephone at me for several minutes.''

''Cornwall is a horse's ass, and a bad horse.''

Arthur turns his eyes back to the fireworks.

''I am very sorry, sir.''

''It is not your fault, I'm a fool for trusting him. I'll come and sign in a minute, let me just enjoy the fireworks.''

''Of course.''

A shoulder against Arthur's pulls his attention away from the Frenchmen and the fireworks, Dutch leaning into him. 

''Did he say somethin' about Cornwall?'' 

''Yes.''

''Find out what.''

Dutch heads forwards towards the light explosions as Arthur follows the servant at a distance. Everyone's attention is towards the sky, the soft violins continuing to play as he passes, lights flashing over him while the servant follows the stairs on the side of the house upwards. 

He slows when the servant speaks with a guard, complaining about Bronte's bad habits of reading and wandering in the house before he heads inside, the guard walking from his post for a cigarette. Arthur strolls behind him, eyes focused until he slips into the home after the white coat servant who is reprimanding a maid angrily. He flinches when the man's hand smacks across her cheek, the girl rushing away once he's finished until he heads up the same stairs he and Dutch had walked down earlier with one of the butler's.

After checking his surroundings, the biker follows, slow and cautious, peeking around the corner as the servant unlocks the same white door spotted earlier and lets himself inside. Arthur waits several more moments before moving to the doorway, pressing himself against it and looking inside to find him pushing something into the desk and heading into the next room. He peeks down the corridor as he slips into the room, using a lock pick to open the drawer and pick up the papers. 

He takes the confidential, top secret papers and folds them, slipping them into his jacket as his eyes read over the letter from the mayor to Bronte on top of the table. Arthur abandons the room, quickly moving down the steps and heading outside to find Dutch in the party. 

Dutch is found at the same stone banister, his arm resting against his back as he holds a glass in his hand, eyes roaming over the party in interest. Arthur leans against the banister beside him as Dutch lowers the glass from his mouth. 

''Anything?''

He pats his chest where the papers were stashed. 

''I think so.''

Dutch smiles and sets his glass down as Bill and Hosea come up the steps to their left.

''Nothin'.'' Bill complains. ''This town is a waste of time.''

''Maybe not,'' Hosea tells him, gripping his shoulder and pulling him aside as he gestures his head to the road captain. ''Arthur?'' He nods and Hosea clasps his hands together. ''Gentlemen, I think we're done here.''

''Did you find anything?'' Dutch asks the older man as they leave the party.

''A lot of money goes through here regularly, and there's a place we can grab it. A big, real bank, but not yet.''

''A city bank?''

''Maybe... and a stuffed one, too.''

''If we're gonna leave the country, it could be the one thing we need.'

Dutch pushes the front doors open, leading his men from the estate. 

''There's always that trolley station Signor Bronte told us about.''

''Thats more a hit on a man he doesn't like than it is any real income.'' Hosea tells him. ''I checked that place, and it makes lots of cash but it doesn't stay.''

Dutch nods, walking down the steps and crunching gravel beneath his shoes. 

''There's also the high stakes poker game I heard about. Now  _that_  could be worth something.''

Their weapons are handed back to them and the car drives back to them, the four piling inside as Bill begins complaining. 

''I ain't never been so awkward in my life,'' he growls. ''All them folk so sure of themselves. High society's pigeon shit! If you ask me, it's more like torture.''

Hosea's eyes study him as Dutch leans closer. 

''Well that's sorta the point, isn't it? Let the  _people_  torture themselves.''

Arthur removes the papers from his jacket and hands them over to Dutch, the older man grasping them in his silk gloved hands. 

''Here's these papers I was tellin' you about.'' 

''Anybody see you take this?''

''I don't think so.''

Dutch hums, looking over them as he nods. 

''I might have an idea... let me think on it.''

-

Dutch wakes him in the morning by loudly knocking on the doorway of his room in the mansion, Arthur sitting up in his cot with his hair sticking up in the back in the shape of a crown as the older man strolls in. 

''Hosea is doing reconnaissance in the city, tripping alarms, causing distractions. Trying to see how the law reacts and how fast.'' Arthur rubs his eyes, pushing grime from the corners. 

''Good.''

''Oh, and I spoke to Evelyn Miller. He's trying to help the Indian Chief from the Gila reservation in Arizona.'' he picks one of Arthur's sketches up from the stack of boxes, trying to make sense of it before he drops it back down on the cardboard and sets his hands on his belt under the lining of his newly polished jacket. 

''Yeah, I met him too.''

''He's trying to rally officials in the bay area to help their cause, spreading the word to Sacramento. From the sound of it, he seems to be the first and only one to be tryin' the help 'em. Maybe we could help.''

''Maybe.'' Arthur says and nods. 

''Now I think that there's a lot of money on a boat on the bay,  _a lot_  of money. And Trelawny, he's investigatin' for us. He says he'll be in contact with you when he's ready.''

''Okay.''

''One last big score here, Arthur and we can disappear! We'll be headin' home in no time.''

He crosses the floor again back towards the gaping doorway where a door should be standing. 

''And home?'' Arthur asks. ''It's in Ehrensburg, right?''

''I ain't too sure, son.''Dutch stops, looking to him. ''Ehrensburg has always been home to me, to you. But I'm thinkin' with the right amount of cash that we can disappear to somewhere better, stop doin' small, pointless runs back down in the pits of Arizona and really make a name for ourselves. Become an empire. Maybe in the Bahamas.''

''Bahamas?''

Dutch shrugs. 

''Somewhere, I ain't sure yet. But when we get there, it'll be beautiful.''


	26. American Fathers

Arthur is busy finding work in the city as Dutch takes Lenny out for a job, the road captain trying to find something for the rest of them to do or contacts that they could do business with and extend into the bay area for something bigger and get bigger amounts of cash to keep themselves grounded in Ehrensburg. 

He passes a law building as someone asks after him, having finished their yelling at the doors. 

''Excuse me?'' they ask. Arthur looks over his shoulder at them, ready to silence them if they try to pin him on any crimes that he probably committed. But they do look familiar with brown facial hair budding to grow and drooping brown eyes with thick lashes watching him. 

''Hey, do I know you?'' he asks the man in return. 

''Mister... Oh, I believe we've met. At that ghastly party the mayor threw.''

''Oh! Evelyn Miller.''

''Unfortunately so mister...?''

''Arthur Morgan.'' he answers, shaking his hand as the two long haired men beside Miller watch them speak. ''At least sometimes.''

''Can I say something rude?''

''Sure.''

''The mayor thinks you robbed him.'' Arthur looks to the men beside Miller as the other man lets out a laugh. ''He didn't have an issue with it, he rather liked you.''

'' _Okay_...''

''Do you... well I mean to say,  _can_  you steal things?''

''Is there a reason you're askin' me to incriminate myself, Mr.Miller?''

''Well I'm sorry...'' Miller looks to the two men still standing in silence. ''Have you met? This is Rains Fall, a great chief and his son, Eagle Flies.''

''Gentlemen.'' they nod to each other. 

''We saw you in Arizona, on that freeway driving the flashy cars from the back of that truck.'' the chief says. ''And we saw you upstairs, at the party.''

''You have great powers of observation.'' Arthur tells him, nodding. 

''Yes, my people, if we are even a people any longer, we've fought hard. We made countless treaties since the days the first settlers landed on our coasts, while the cities like this were being built from the ground up, and every one of them has been violated and broken. We have been moved, punished, punished and moved.''

''I'm sure.''

''And now I am told that our land will be drilled into once again, the final bits of land we were given. For the oil that the men who built these places thrive on. We have been engaged in a lawsuit for years, but still they try and build it, spilling the oil and ruining what we have left. Our people have been given very little to work with, and though we fight we also suffer. Our homes are nothing but shacks, we have no running water in most of our homes on the reservation.''

''This is contravening the laws put in place years ago,'' Miller explains. 

''This will lead to a war.'' the chief's son says. 

''No, my son.'' Rains Fall places his hand on the younger man's shoulder, his son glancing to him from the corner of his eye through the locks falling over his face. ''It will not. We cannot fight another war, or afford to be made out as the violent type. They have got stronger, and we are much weaker. I know that they will not be afraid of using high powered weapons against us if it comes to it.''

''It's a bad business...'' Arthur says, nodding. 

''It's to do with oil.'' Miller says. ''We all know that it is, but backed by whom I'm not sure. I need the names and the proof of these men. I know that there were some hunters on the land some time back who filled out reports with Leviticus Cornwall and the State Government, claiming huge pieces of their land to build the pipeline on.''

Arthur leans his weight onto his right foot, tilting his head slightly. 

''So you want me to steal it?''

''Obviously they can't.'' Miller motions to the other two. ''And even more obviously, I would be useless. Listen, I-I realize that this is a ridiculous request, but we're very desperate.''

''No, nah, I'm not a  _'do-gooder',_  Mr.Miller.I'm not sure I can help any of ya.''

''We'll pay.'' Eagle Flies says. 

''I'm a workin' man,'' Arthur says, straightening his back and crossing his arms with a sigh. ''I can't risk runnin' through states to help any of ya.''

''We'll pay you lots.'' Rains Fall promises. 

''Stop, father. He's a waste of our time.'' the younger man says and begins to turn away. 

''There's a price on my head in more than two states, my friend,'' Arthur explains to Eagle Flies, forcing his eyes back to him. ''The government doesn't like me anymore than it does you. I've been runnin' from the police for as long as I can remember, and my time here is nigh on done.''

Rains Fall stares towards the biker before turning his eyes to his son, nodding. 

''We understand.'' he states. ''And we will pay.'' 

His son wanders back to his side. 

''Thank you.'' Arthur responds. 

''Meet my son in Kern County in a few days time, just outside of Bakersfield at Wasco. He will take you to the oil fields and you will know where to go from there.''

Arthur nods. 

''Okay.''

''We are very grateful for your help.''

''Gentlemen,'' Miller speaks. ''That appointment with the senator, we should head over there.''

''It's a waste of our time, and his.'' Eagle Flies says. 

''No, we must try everything.'' his father tells him. ''Come along.''

Arthur begins to turn to head back for searching when the law office doors open and a man in the doorway gestures them in and apologizes for the wait. The biker watches as they file inside, heads low as if they already knew how it was going to end.

-

Arthur receives a text from Hosea while he's filling his bike with gas at a truck stop, finding out that Dutch and Lenny crashed a bus in the city in their escape and that Dutch hit his head hard enough to be put out of work for at least a few days. They were both safe, and hadn't been followed, but the response time had been faster than they had been expecting. 

He shoots a text back to Hosea before slipping his phone into his pocket, riding the last stretch to Wasco. Eagle Flies greets him and takes him to a cliff face overlooking the oil fields, rigs lifting up and falling back down in a harmonious clunking noise across the fields for as long as they could see into the sunset. 

''There's a foreman.'' the younger man explains, handing military grade binoculars to Arthur. ''His name is Danbury. He's in the office above the refinery room with the files. The window with the blinds drawn up.''

The biker raises the binoculars to his eyes and peers through, looking over the windows and the brick layer wall towards the blind covered window at the back. 

''I see it.''

''If the files are as incriminating as we believe, Mr.Cornwall's men will destroy them if they know you're coming.''

Arthur hands the binoculars back to Eagle Flies, nodding. 

''There's only one of me, son, I won't intend on lettin' them know I'm comin'. What will the files say?''

''There'll be a report from Leland Oil Development Company.''

''Any ideas how I sneak into this place?''

''You could crawl under the fence, but the cameras might see you and trigger an alarm. Or hide in a truck. They keep rolling in.''

''I'll take a look.''

''If there's a problem, call for me.''

Arthur stops. 

''I thought the whole point of this was that you weren't involved?''

''Ideally.''

He spots a truck driving down the hill towards the oil building, Arthur jogging to it and grabbing the back. He lifts his feet off the ground and waits until he's sure that the driver isn't looking to hoist himself into the bed and press himself against the back door. He pulls the cover in the back over himself and looks out through the crack as rain begins falling heavily down from the sky, thunder rumbling. 

The guard at the front gates greets the driver of the truck, the vehicle rolling through and pulling to a stop some feet inside. The driver's side door can be heard opening and the man announces that he was going to pack up, Arthur peering through the crack of the bed cover before pushing it up and clambering out again. Crouched, he makes his way across the grounds, avoiding the eyes of the cameras as the necks turn back and forth slowly. 

He pushes against the entry door, watching it creak open before he slips inside and shuts it behind himself. Arthur must keep his eyes on both the internal cameras and the workers who are busying themselves with their jobs. He moves around them, or behind, watching the necks of the cameras until he rushes up the stairs to the second level of the building. 

There are two doors at the end of the floor, one leading into the office of Danbury. Arthur reaches the door and stands, turning the knob and stepping inside. 

''Ah,'' he says, shutting it behind himself. ''You must be Danbury.''

''Who?'' Arthur picks a chair up from beside the doorway, sticking it under the doorknob. ''What?''

He turns back, eyes shining over the black bandana covering his face. He kicks the chair further under the doorknob as he approaches Danbury. 

''Quieten yourself, friend. This won't take long as long as you don't make it harder on yourself.''

He grabs him from over his desk and slams his head into the wood, forcing him to look up at him by his thin hair. Danbury is cringing, blood dribbling from his nose onto his hands. 

''I need some papers, Danbury. Nothin' important, a file. You see, I'm from head office...''

''You're not from head office.''

''Does that seem important right now?''

The other shakes his head, blood continuing to fall from his nostrils. 

''No.''

''I need a file from the Leland Oil Development Company about the oil near the reservations.''

''I-I...''

Arthur drags him across the table and drops him on the floor, landing a swift hit into his eye that causes his head to whip to the side. 

''Think, Danbury. A mind is a terrible thing to lose... especially all over such a nice one as this.''

He drags him to stand, Danbury stumbling to the side and pointing to his desk. 

''It's here! It's here!'' he fumbles with his desk before brandishing the file, Arthur snatching it from his grip and thumbing through it before raising his eyes to him. 

''Thank you, Danbury.'' he says, stuffing the file into the bag over his shoulders. ''You've been a real good help. You might even get a promotion for this.''

A knock sounds on the door and Danbury's eyes flick to it, Arthur standing in place. 

''Mr. Danbury?'' someone asks. ''Are you alright?''

''Tell 'em all's fine.'' Arthur orders, eyes hard. 

Danbury swallows thickly, hands raised. 

''I'm fine. Everything's fine. Nothing to worry about, I'm just working.''

''Now stay quiet.'' the biker tells him. ''Or head office will send me back to get ya.''

Danbury watches him as he approaches the window and opens it, hopping out and sliding down the roof onto the ground. As he lands, men with guns run to him, threatening him as they shout for him to get on his knees and put his hands on his head. 

Arthur looks at them, raising his hands and taking a step back before something to his left explodes. It distracts each of them, Arthur ripping his pistol from his belt and shooting their guns from their hands and running. A beacon of fire grew in the middle of the field as Arthur raced away, hearing Eagle Flies calls for him. The younger man drags him onto the back of Arthur's bike, handling it well. 

''Did you get the documents?'' he asks. 

''Yeah, but we need to get the hell out of here.''

They're more than eighty miles away before either of them feel that they're in the clear, slowing in some beach-side town where Eagle Flies stops the motorcycle in front of a gas station and raises his eyes to the glowing lights. Arthur steps off and pulls his bandana from his face, stuffing it into his bag and handing the file over to the younger man who pushes the kickstand down. 

''That explosion came just in time.'' he tells him. 

''I was happy to watch some of that oil burn.'' Eagle Flies responds, handing Arthur's keys back to him. ''So, you met Mr.Danbury?''

''Yes, don't worry. He was very obliging. And I thought you weren't gettin' involved?''

''I thought you were going to enter and leave silently.'' the younger man opens the file, reading over it. 

''Thank you.'' Arthur tells him, dark eyes lifting to him. ''You saved my life.''

''Thank you.'' Eagle Flies responds. ''I hope... well, I don't know what I hope. But, who knows? Maybe these will be of some use. Here's your money.''

A rolled stack of cash is placed in Arthur's hand, the older man peering down at it as the other steps away. 

''Thank you,'' Arthur tells him as he walks away into the dark, a firetruck blowing down the road with sirens wailing towards the location of the oil fields. 

-

He gets back to their camp a day later, cashing the money into the box and running into Lenny on the way. 

''What happened in the city?'' he asks him. 

Lenny shakes his head, holding up his bandaged wrist. 

''Dutch decided we needed to hit that trolley place like that Italian guy said.'' the younger man explains. ''We ended up just walkin' in, holdin' the place up, and then runnin' back out. He stole a bus when we were outside of the city but we managed to dislodge the brake and went crashin' right off the freeway.''

'' _Shit_.'' Arthur answers. 

''Anyways, Dutch flew from the back into the driver's seat and down the steps to the doors but I lodged myself between the seats so that wouldn't happen. He hit the wall pretty hard, man. He's been nursing a headache since it happened.''

''He been takin' anything?''

''As often as he can without overdosin' on the stuff. Hosea keeps tryin' to get him to go somewhere so it can really get looked at but Dutch doesn't want the cops stomping in the moment he shows his face.''

Arthur sighs, raising his eyes to the top window where he sees the figures of the president and vice-president arguing. 


	27. Debauchery

A text from Trelawny four days after his fun at the oil fields and two days after getting back to camp to an injured Lenny has him combing the streets for a certain tailor's, forcing him to walk what felt like miles after having to struggle to find parking for his oversized motorcycle. 

Trelawny is catching up on one of his favorite magazines leaning against a pillar of a building, the shade casting over him as he flips a page. His three-piece suit glimmers, polished brown shoes sliding against the asphalt as he raises his attention to the biker. 

''There you are, dear boy.''

''Yes, here I am.'' he watches Trelawny close his magazine and roll it up, stuffing it into his jacket pocket. 

''Well we're going to need to get you smartened up a bit.'' he gestures to Arthur's ragged jeans and leather jacket, also tapping Arthur's chin to gesture to the facial hair growing. 

''What?''

''You can't play the tables on the San Francisco Boat looking like this!'' the other exclaims, stepping around him. 

''You can't?''

''Not if you want to fit in so well no-one realizes you're there to rob the place! Now come on.''

''What are you talkin' about?'' Arthur asks, following Trelawny to the tailor doors, raising his eyes to the name printed on the window as the other man opens the door and allows himself in. 

''Those clothes are not fit for the purpose at hand. Come along, dear boy, come along.''

Trelawny leads him around the store, eyeing pieces for himself as Arthur follows, confused. The man he guesses is the tailor peeks around the counter and approaches them, hands clasped together. 

''Can I help you two?'' he asks. 

''Yes, you can.'' Trelawny gestures to Arthur. ''My friend here needs a nice fitting suit for tonight. We need to make him look like the duke he really is!''

''Of course! Will we be taking measurements for one or simply looking at the stock?''

''We will be looking at the stock.''

The man leads them to the suits, Trelawny pointing out three for Arthur to choose from and the biker rolls his eyes. Arthur points to one, chooses it in blue, and is immediately whisked to the dressing rooms to pull it on. He steps out and finds Josiah putting his original clothing into a bag, raising his eyes and smiling at Arthur. 

''You look wonderful! I've already paid, all we need to do now is to get you to the barber!''

"Javier already cut my hair-''

''Your beard.'' Trelawny pulls at the scruff again and carries Arthur's bag of clothes under his arm. ''And you need a different style to your hair anyways. You can't be looking like you've only just got off the road.''

''Good luck tonight, gentlemen.'' the tailor says as they exit the store. 

''Herr Strauss has scoped the whole thing out the moment he got here from Arizona to help. It's quite ingenious actually.''

''What is?''

''The action he has planned. Indeed, it's not much of an action at all. You bet cards and win. And you're going to bet very big and flamboyantly  _while_  you win, and everyone's going to think you're some new money from the oil fields there to lay it on  _thick_  and  _drunk_. All the while Herr Strauss will be signaling you in your line of sight. When you bust the place is when they take you to the safe, and  _that_  is when you and Javier take all that you like.''

''You don't think they'll see him, armed, comin' into the safe with me?''

''Sure, they might. But perhaps not, you will see.''

''The suspense is killin' me...''

''Oh, don't be so jaded. We both know this just is the kind of innocent fun you thrive on.''

''Well, after the last couple of months, armed robbery don't seem to be such an  _innocent pastime_.''

''No, but we, you... all of us, will be done here soon.''

''I hope so.''

Trelawny leads him into the quiet barber's where his demanding voice asks the man to smarten up his ''hick friend''.  Arthur's beard is shaven off with a straight razor, product applied to his hair and brushed into a smooth wave, blond hair shining. Trelawny pays again and pushes him into a car that drives them to the pier onto the boat they were going on. His gun and clothes are put under safe-keeping by the driver that Josiah knew so well.

''Remember,'' Trelawny turns to him in the car. ''You're a brash oil man with money to burn! Which reminds me, no mumbling or shuffling. Puff your chest out. Get outside yourself.''

''Yeah alright, alright. This ain't Hamlet. So who's the mark? Is he alright by the way? The driver?''

''George and I go way back,'' Trelawny rests his arm on the back of the carseat. ''A man called Desmond Blythe, made his fortune in  _hosiery_  of all things. Likes to play fast and always keeps extra collateral in the safe upstairs.''

''If Strauss is sittin' behind him, how does he know what cards I got?''

''He won't. But the dealer has recently become a very good friend of mine.''

''Another one? Psh...''

''Don't worry, Arthur, we're all the authors of our own authority.''

The car stops at the pier, both stepping out and Trelawny directing the driver on where to go. 

''What money am I playin' with?'' Arthur asks as he looks up towards the boat he assumed he was getting on. 

''Don't worry, everything has been arranged ahead of time. Your chips will be waiting for you. There she is,'' Josiah looks up at the large boat as well. ''Come along.''

Strauss and Javier are leaning against the banisters in front of the boat, Javier finishing a cigarette and dropping the butt end in the water as Strauss greets the biker and comments quickly on his appearance in his suit.

''Gentlemen! How wonderful to see you!''

They both turn to look at them properly, Javier's tie slightly crooked from which Trelawny reaches over and quickly adjusts before motioning Arthur on to the ramp that would lead them onto the boat. 

Javier and Strauss disappear to their respected spots, Javier on a mission to find a change of clothes as Arthur walks with Trelawny down the corridor towards the tables. 

''You seem unsure.'' Josiah states. 

''Robbin' a heavily armed riverboat with out a gun tends to bring the out the self-doubt in me.''

Trelawny waves it off, stopping in front of the door muffling the sound of music and excited conversation from inside.

''These people are virtually idiots! This is simple stuff.'' he opens the door and steps inside with Arthur, raising the tone of his voice as he continues. ''Now have a good time but don't lose too much money or your wife is going to kill me.''

He nods to Trelawny, turning away as the brit wanders off to play someone like a fool. 

''Whatever you say.'' he says. 

''Now where can I get a cocktail?'' he hears.

He's invited to sit at the table adjacent to Strauss reading a paper, Arthur bringing his chair up and introducing himself as a Mr. Callahan. He apologizes for his late arrival, hands brushing away from the chips in front of him. 

''Desmond Blythe.'' the man opposite of him answers, dressed in tones of yellow and red. 

''Evenin'.''

''Not to worry.'' the dealer says. ''Welcome to the game, Mr. Callahan. Okay gentlemen, let's play.''

''I hope you're a player.'' Blythe says, leaning against the table. ''Been too many cowards at these tables recently. Nothin' less dignified than a man afraid to lose a little money.''

Arthur scoops up his cards and runs his eyes over them, glancing to the chips between his arms. He continues his conversation with Blythe across the table. Blythe wins the first round with three queens, forcing the other three out of the game and leaving he and Arthur at the table. 

''I guess its just you and me now, friend.'' he says as he scoops the chips together and brings them to his chest. 

''Guess it is.'' he sighs.

''Time to see if you're really the man you seem to think you are.''

''Likewise, Mr.Blythe.''

''So what business are you in, Callahan?''

''I'm an oil man, for my sins.'' the dealer shuffles the cards and begins dealing them. 

''Funny. I haven't heard of you.''

''Oh, you will.'' he says. ''You know, I thought about gettin' into hosiery, but... I just look better in a suit.''

''I would stick to oil, Mr.Callahan. I don't think you have a future on the stage.''

''You sound just like my wife.''

Arthur plays queens after Blythe plays jacks. He chuckles after he wins as Blythe curses him and he drags the chips closer to himself. 

''I guess my luck held.'' he states. ''Is that you done?''

''Done?''

''Bust.. or uh, you got somethin' else to play with?''

''Meaning?''

He stops counting the chips, raising his eyes to Blythe who is staring from across the table. 

''Well I heard... well, I heard there was some big boys on this boat. Maybe that's not you, no offense-''

'' _Sit your hillbilly ass down_.''

Arthur sets the chips in his hands down and looks back at the other. 

''Why?''

''I got a watch.'' Blythe explains. 

''Look at you.''

The other's brows furrow and his eyes narrow. 

''An expensive one... a fine one. Swiss. A Reutlinger, no less. It's in the safe upstairs... it's worth more than you.''

Arthur shrugs. 

''Okay, I trust you.'' he pulls his chair closer to the table and sits. 

''Now play.''

''As you wish.''

They begin their new game, Blythe throwing his chips in first. 

''You must know Leviticus Cornwall, big oil man like you.''

''Of course. We've crossed paths. I was fortunate enough to tour one of his... establishments, one of his little operations, in the central valley.''

Blythe takes one look at his cards and laughs, pushing all of his chips to the center of the table. 

''I am one-hundred percent all in, Mr.Callahan.''

They play their cards and Arthur takes Strauss' silent advice, the dirty blond smiling at Blythe as he wins. Blythe fumes from the other side of the table. 

'' _Goddamn you_ \- no-no offense.''

''None taken.'' Arthur answers. 

''Well-played, sir,'' another man says as he approaches Blythe's shoulder, laying his hand on it. ''Unlucky, Desmond.''

''Forgive my lack of discretion,'' Arthur interrupts. ''But where might I find this watch?''

''It's upstairs.'' Blythe's friend says, walking around the Hosiery King to lead Arthur away. ''Should we go and have a look?''

''Why not?'' 

He stands from the table and gives his goodbyes to Blythe who's in the process of grieving his loss. Javier is guarding the wide doors with another man, earpiece resting around the shell of his ear and a walkie talkie on his hip. His hands are clasped in front of him like the man beside him. 

''Who are you?'' Blythe's friend asks. 

''I-I started last week.'' Javier explains.

''Good... sure. Perhaps you could escort us up to the office?''

Javier nods. 

''Yes, of course, sir.'' he opens the door and gestures to the corridor. ''Follow me, gentlemen.''

''Thank you...''

They follow Javier up a set of polished wooden stairs as Blythe's friend continues to speak. 

''You're having quite the night.''

''Yes, so far.''

''I  _cannot_  believe someone gave an immigrant like this a job.'' the man states, Arthur noticing the flick of muscle in Javier's jaw but he bites his tongue as Arthur keeps his silence behind the man. ''Personally I wouldn't trust one with a gun, but fear not-'' he brandishes a shining Smith and Wesson revolver, the barrel short and the gun stocky but it looked to hold a lot of power. ''-I've got my own little law-giver right here.''

''Very good.'' Arthur tells him as Javier leads them out on the deck. 

They follow him up the steps to the second level where Blythe's friend continues chatting. 

''I think you're going to like this watch, sir. I saw it earlier and it really is a handsome piece. Foreign-made, but you can't have everything.''

''Indeed.''

They come to the top level, Blythe's friends spreading his arms. 

''Well, here we are.'' he says. 

They step inside and Javier stands beside the other guard, Blythe's friend working on opening the safe as Arthur stands back and watches. He opens the door and Escuella swings his elbow into the man's face, knocking the guard down and raising his gun to the other man's head.

'' _Don't_  reach for your gun.'' Arthur orders, stepping closer and pulling it out of his jacket pocket before shoving him into the wall. ''I guess you were right about idiots givin' immigrants guns.''

Javier laughs lowly behind him until Blythe's friend raises a second gun to him. 

''An idiot, huh?''

Arthur fires on instinct and watches the other's blood spatter against the window before he drops against the wall and slides onto the floor.

''Shit!'' Javier exclaims. ''Let's hope no-one heard that. Quick, clear the safe and let's get outta here.''

''The view's lookin' pretty good in here.'' Arthur says, pulling cash and the watch out. 

''How much do you think we got?'' 

He straightens his back, looking over the items in his grasp. 

''A few thousand, I'm guessing. I ain't too sure how much this is worth.'' Javier looks over the watch before motioning them on to the door.

''We'll figure that out later. Come on, we can't be seen in here with his body.''

Arthur follows Javier out, not hearing any commotion on the walkie talkie connected to the other's hip about gunfire. They walk calmly and slowly back downstairs where they find Strauss and Trelawny arguing with Blythe.

''How we gettin' out of here?'' Javier asks him.

''I don't know. That usually happens when you leave Trelawny in charge of plannin'.''

Blythe raises his finger to Arthur who tries pushing his way between Trelawny and Strauss at the bar. 

''There he is!''

''Now, don't be a sore loser, friend.'' Arthur begins patting Trelawny's shoulder in a hurried manner as he looks around the room for guards. 

''There's something I don't like about the pair of you!'' Blythe says. 

''There's plenty I don't like about you but I have the good manners to keep my mouth shut.'' Josiah answers, finishing his shot of alcohol and setting it on the bar. 

''Shoot that man!''

Their eyes raise to a man in his underwear pointing at Javier, Escuella freezing in place before laughter erupts. He looks around, bewildered, and tries arguing that he is in fact a guard on the boat and that Javier stole his uniform. The rest of the guards escort him away and the air around them cools quickly. 

''Excuse us.'' Trelawny tells Blythe, moving the men away. 

Strauss, Arthur, and Josiah go up a deck, Javier meeting them later and explaining that they needed to get the hell out of there the moment an alarm goes off and the body of the pit owner is discovered. 

Josiah shoves them into the water and they drag him down with them, Strauss clinging to Arthur for help as they swim to shore in the freezing waves. 

The oldest man has to catch his breath once they get back, the rest wiping water from their ears and blowing it out of their noses as Josiah speaks. 

''Never a dull moment with you all.''

''That's one way of puttin' it.'' Arthur says. 

'' _Do_  tell me you've got the money.''

He nods, brandishing the watch that Strauss takes from his grip and holds to his ear. 

''A Reutlinger, or somethin'.'' he says as he splits the cash between the four of them.

''Yes,'' Strauss says. ''It's a Reutlinger alright''

''Well give it back, then.'' Arthur snatches it from his grip, motioning them on. ''Come on, let's get out of here.''


	28. Horsemen, Apocalypse

''How you doin', Mrs. Adler?'' Arthur asks as he comes to sit beside her.

Sadie lifts her eyes from the gun that she had been cleaning and gives a kind look to the man. 

''How are you? Been quite a journey since I joined you fellers. And now you and Dutch have joined high society? My Lord above...''

''Yeah, it seems so.''

''I think my days in polite society are over.'' she says as she picks her rag up again. 

''Well, I just saw Bill Williamson at a party at the San Francisco mayor's house.'' the woman laughs. ''If he can do it, anyone can.''

''You get any leads?''

''I think so.''

''You know so, Arthur Morgan.'' Dutch's boots stomp up the steps as he approaches the front door, Arthur standing.  ''Come on, we need to talk. Mrs. Adler, if you'd excuse us.''

''When are you gonna let me come robbin' with you, Dutch?'' she asks, turning in her seat as the oldest man opens the door and Arthur steps to follow him inside. 

''My Lord, few more like her and we could take over the whole world.''

Arthur smiles as he follows Dutch inside the abandoned mansion. 

''Few more like her and there wouldn't be much of a world left.'' he responds. 

''Yes, perhaps.'' They follow the stairs up to the second floor balcony where Dutch lights a cigar as he views the driveway leading to the mansion. Arthur declines the offer of one himself and the older man shrugs before sticking his lighter back into his pocket. ''Now, the bank and the distractions... I think we can hit it.''

''I ain't ever robbed in a city before.'' Arthur responds as he leans against the white balcony banister. 

''You leave the plannin' to me. You'll ride with me?''

''Always. How many are we takin'?''

''We'll take the main husk of the group, get John updated when he gets back from Arizona. I'm thinkin' we leave Mrs. Adler and Kieran here and take Micah with us. Micah will run distractions with Hosea. We can't trust him to take the whole bank with us just yet.''

''Micah? I'd say Lenny.''

''Why?'' Dutch studies him. 

''Well it depends on if you want a massacre or a payday.''

''Now I wish there was somethin' I could do to make you two get along better.''

''That's easy. Make 'im change.''

''Very funny.'' Dutch says, cracking a small smile until the slight hum of an electric motor captures their attention. The older man raises his eyes past Arthur, looking over his shoulder towards the road as his face falls. The younger biker turns, stepping away from the banister towards the road. ''What is that?''

An ATV revving down the road with a terrified Kieran comes into view, spitting gravel and dust up from behind his tires as he shouts for everyone to take cover. Arthur leans closer, about to shout something to the younger man before Kieran crashes the quad and scrambles to hide. 

''Look-'' Dutch points with his cigar. ''-in the tree line. Everybody take cover! O'Driscoll boys are comin'!''

A shot from the trees hits Kieran's ATV and causes the plastic to explode, the Van Der Linde's below running for cover as Dutch and Arthur press themselves against the columns on the two sides of the balcony. 

Arthur pulls his gun from his belt as Dutch removes his pistols and begins firing, a gunfight exploding around them as the bikers below begin a war on the grounds of the mansion. He turns and points his gun, watching O'Driscoll's running from the trees with hockey masks over their faces and belts of bullets over their chests. 

He hears gunshots from the back of the mansion and splits away from Dutch when given the okay, running back inside and grabbing ammunition before sticking a new magazine into the gun. Arthur bounds down the steps as he hears Hosea giving orders from down below, grasping one of the machine rifles they'd stolen from the Raiders before hand. 

He shoulders the front door open and raises his gun to fire as he runs to the beginning of the driveway to help John and Charles fend off the oncoming O'Driscoll attacks. They begin riding in on their motorbikes as the gun barrels of the Van Der Linde's aim for their heads, Arthur watching the hockey masks shatter along with bone. 

''Any casualties?'' Arthur asks Charles as he comes to his side, both turning at the same time to fire at three more O'Driscoll's riding from the trees. 

''No, but I'm not sure about Kieran.'' Charles answers, both blowing their attackers from their bikes. Arthur ducks as a motorcycle hits a brick and bounces, flying past and landing in a heap on the floor before John shouts for them to fall back to the house. 

A lifted truck with wide rear view mirrors comes barreling down the driveway, Charles and John both turning back to the mansion as they fire while Arthur aims his gun to the driver. The windshield cracks as a bullet goes through, the biker watching a spatter of blood follow it before he turns to run back to the mansion with the other two. 

''What the hell is goin' on?!'' he shouts. ''We're overrun!''

''Everyone just stay calm.'' he hears Dutch's voice as they rush back in through the doorway, Charles stumbling in after him while John continues to empty his gun cartridge outside. ''We need something in front of that door!''

John falls back inside the mansion as a window beside Arthur's elbow shatters, Charles firing his gun through the hole in return. He shoves the cabinet in front of the door and steps back as Dutch begins handing out orders on getting the windows covered. 

''John, you take those windows over there, Charles, you take that side door. Arthur, you take the windows in the back, go!''

Each of them move in separate directions, Dutch keeping the front covered while the younger biker runs to the back of the house and presses himself between two windows. He cocks his gun and checks the magazine before breaking the glass with his elbow and firing numerous rounds into the moving figures outside. 

''Is everyone accounted for?'' he asks John as they shoot out separate windows. 

''I don't know. I think.''

Arthur mows the final three coming through the trees in the back as Mrs.Adler's animalistic screaming interrupts his focused aim. 

''Mrs. Adler is still out there! Cover me.'' 

He hops out the window and over the railing, rushing across the grass towards the sound of her voice as an O'Driscoll makes a teasing remark about Dutch's love for women. Arthur comes around the corner of a shed out back and finds her knife sliding across a man's throat like it was butter, Sadie sheathing it in another's neck, then chest, then lungs before the body slides to the ground, leaving a trail of blood behind it. Kieran pants heavily beside her, drenched in the blood of the O'Driscoll.

''Sadie? Why didn't you get inside?'' he asks as he grabs Kieran by the arm and drags him to stand. Kieran leans against him as he stumbles over his feet, Arthur keeping him standing. 

''And miss all this?'' she asks, picking up one the dead body's gun and slips her knife into its holster. ''Come on, Arthur.''

They jog through the trees, bullets shooting over their heads into bark and causing it to explode around them, leaves raining down as he and Sadie shoot through the oncoming bodies. Charles sinks his machete into one after coming through one of the broken windows, Arthur running around the front as he continues firing off rounds, Sadie almost shooting  _him_  in the process of her rage. 

They push them back down the driveway as a wall of firearms, each dropping or running until Dutch shouts. 

''Cowards!'' Arthur slows and lowers his gun, hearing Charles speaking gently to Sadie behind him as the gang president turns around towards the mansion as the doors open. Hosea steps out with Javier, the younger man jogging over to one of the many bodies. 

''We okay?'' Hosea asks. 

''I'm pretty sure. Except for Kieran here.'' Dutch and Arthur look to the younger man, still panting and trying to control his shaking as warm hands. ''Poor kid...''

The rest gather around Kieran, Hosea speaking to him gently with Arthur adjacent to them. 

''What happened, son?''

Kieran continues to shake, swallowing harshly and hoarsely responding.

''They-they got me out-out on the road. Almost blew my head off! They asked me about-bout the gang but I denied everythin'. I'm sorry, I didn't try to bring 'em back here! I thought I lost 'em on the road.''

Hosea gently clasps his hand over his shoulder and brings him away from the group. 

''It's alright... let's get you cleaned up.''

Arthur turns his eyes away to the mess of bodies around them, gesturing quietly for Dutch's attention.

''What we doin' with them?''

''Burn them, bury them, but not too close.'' the older man orders. Charles and Sadie move into action immediately to disperse the bodies as the gang president steps away and runs his eyes over the blood caked in the dirt. ''Colm O'Driscoll...'' 

''That man can  _really_  hate.'' Arthur answers, fresh rage growing inside of his chest. 

''So can I, Arthur. So can I. We need to get movin', away from here.''

''You want us to find another camp?''

''You ain't thinkin' big enough, Arthur. You ain't seein' the vastness of our problems.'' Dutch brings his hands from his belt. '' _And our opportunities_.''

''I'm not sure I get you...''

''You will, son.'' Dutch pats his shoulder. ''You will.''

John and Arthur watch him walk away as he tells them about work until Arthur gestures to the bodies now being swarmed with bugs and attracting crows. 

''Shall we?'' the older man asks, John nodding and pulling the rifle in his hands over his shoulder. 

-

_He saved my life and I was worried he would lose his._

_Mrs. Adler fought braver than any of us. She is driven by powerful forces I scarcely understand._

_That's what love has done to her, I guess._  

-

Arthur is standing in front of the marked door with Kieran's initial carved into the piece of wood, his head low and hands clasped together as the night grows stronger and his phone jingles in his back pocket. 

It pulls him from his silent meditation with the quiet room, the older man checking on Kieran for the night as he turns away and pulls the cellphone out, reading over the text from Dutch directing him back to the mansion. He follows the slight buzz of dim light coming from the mansion up to the second story balcony where they had witnessed Kieran riding to them.  

Hosea is leaning back in a chair, pressing the back against the banister as he balances on the two back legs, Dutch staring at his oldest friend as he leans to the side, Hosea speaking as Arthur steps through the doorway. 

''So, Arthur, you get the deciding vote.''

'' 'bout what?''

''We take an insult and scurry off like cockroaches-'' Dutch leans towards Hosea, pulling away from his position. ''-or deal with business the right way.''

''We don't need to take revenge.'' Hosea argues. ''We hardly know the guy.''

''This ain't about revenge, Hosea!'' Arthur moves around Dutch to lean against the banister himself, smelling the bay air through the trees. ''Angelo Bronte don't mean shit to me! This is about the fact that we are plannin' on robbin' a bank in his town! A bank that he no doubt protects, a town where  _his_  men are gunnin' for us. Before we do that, we need to put him out of commission.''

''I disagree.'' Hosea lifts his hand as Arthur begins to slowly pace the balcony. ''There's always an easier way-''

''There ain't no easier way here. Now I know his type, he's a vindictive little power broker who rules by fear-'' Hosea rolls his eyes. ''-now we pull that stunt in his cess pit of a town, we're doomed. You wanna leave this place? Leave this country? We  _need_  that money.''

''We still have the clubhouse in Arizona, Dutch.'' Hosea reminds him with a calm tone. ''The clubhouse with the money we made from hitting Colm's score.''

''It isn't  _enough_ , Hosea. That money's the grocery cash and snack runs, this could be a  _real_  opportunity.''

''It just don't feel good, Dutch.''

''This could be it. It could be the last job we ever pull. Before the year is out, we're gonna be harvestin' mangoes in Tahiti.''

''We're goin' to Tahiti, now?'' Arthur asks. 

Hosea drops his foot from the wall and his chair's front legs hit the floor. 

''Farmers,'' Dutch says, dark eyes turning to the younger man. ''But we need seed capital, and we need to leave.'' Hosea opens his mouth as he stands to speak, but Dutch interrupts him. ''You know it! I know it.''

''Forgive me if I can't think too much about the mango harvest-'' the older man turns, voice angry. 

''This is it.'' Dutch promises again. ''Trust me... Arthur...''

Hosea lifts his hand to Arthur as a silent wish for him to side with him, the two sides of the younger man's gut siding with both men before he shrugs, ignoring Hosea's gaze. 

''Business is business...'' he answers. 

Dutch turns to the vice-president, holding his ground. 

''Angelo Bronte stands between us and our future.'' he raises his arm to motion in the vague direction of the city. 

''You'll damn us all.'' Hosea sounds reserved, a sign of him beginning to give up as he leans back against the balcony column. His brown eyes turn to Dutch who drops his arm, bewildered that Hosea would say such a thing. 

''Arthur,'' the president says, eyes refusing to tear away from Hosea's as he steps towards the balcony doorway. ''Come on.''

''You'd better be right about this one.'' Arthur says as Hosea's blank eyes turn to him. 

''I am.''

''I've heard that before.''

''And usually I am right.'' Dutch tells him as they reach the steps and begin descending them. 

''If you say so...''

''Quit doubtin', Arthur. It does no favors. Come on, we need to go see a man about a boat.''


	29. Revenge is a Dish Best Eaten

They meet a man named Thomas just past Berkeley who promises that he can help them if they help him. It's a quick excursion, help the young man with the boat out on the water and pay Thomas ahead of time for his trouble as they promise to pay the other half if Thomas gets them back out of San Rafael. 

Arthur arrives the next late afternoon to Thomas's boat shop resting on the water, hearing Dutch promise Bill a paradise where he could feed the wicked and spoiled to sharks when he wanted and sit back and suntan when he wasn't busy killing. 

Dutch has brought Lenny and John along too for the ordeal, each armed and ready in the boat. Arthur and Lenny sit on either side of John as the boat pulls away from the shore, teetering on the water as Bill makes a snide comment towards Marston. Dutch quiets him and responds with statements of his own referring to Bill's time in the military.

''You were a sharpshooter, weren't you?'' the sun dives behind Dutch towards the horizon. ''Maybe you can help with suppression fire.''

''I never said I was no sharpshooter.''

''Oh, that's right. You were busy cleaning out the toilets and scrubbing the floors.'' Arthur laughs.

''Yeah, well I fought, and I fought well.'' he spits as he turns away and tries to sulk in the corner of the boat.

''So you always tell us.''

They continue arguing the point as the boat whirs its way slowly to the back of Bronte's mansion, the stars and the moon rising and trying to peer at them through the clouds and smog.

''Interestin' way you boys got of preparin' for a killin'.'' Arthur states. 

''I'm sorry I wasted my life tryin' to teach you boys,'' Dutch responds. ''Love you though I do.''

''Well, leavin' love aside-'' he feels a wheeze leave his throat and he coughs the feeling away. ''-you think we got this?''

''Don't you ever leave love aside, Arthur. It's all we got.''

The boat slows when it comes to the back of Bronte's property, Lenny hopping out first and dismantling the camera connected to the back wall. He rips the wires with his knife as Dutch orders Thomas to pick them up further down the bay, the other man nodding as the rest of the bikers push the boat from the shore as Dutch thanks him.

Arthur zips up his jacket coat higher to his chest as John shrugs his vest higher on his shoulders. Bill brushes the patches earned on his arm off while Lenny slides his knife back into its holster, pushing the sleeves of his own coat up. 

Dutch sets his red tinted sunglasses on the end of his nose and peers over the wall of the home before they each hop it, moving to different cover. John and Arthur hide at one side as Dutch and the other two crouch on the other, the older man giving out orders. 

''Arthur, John, you take the left side. If you see a shot, you take it. Okay, good luck, gentlemen.''

Arthur moves away towards the other side of the garden, using the wall as his cover while John follows him. They use the podiums and the sculptures in the intricate garden to hide, John pointing to the two guards sharing a smoke break together with wires coming from their ears. 

''You see those two?'' John asks. 

He raises his pistol and shoots both in the head, an eruption of gunfire following closely behind as shouts from the mansion cut through the thick wall of explosions. The bikers push them back into the house, Bill shooting the lock with his shotgun and allowing Arthur to kick the doors open. Security steps out from around the corners of the walls and aim their guns, the wall of bikers killing them before they had the chance to shoot. 

Arthur leads the battalion inside the mansion with Bill's shotgun in his hands, firing at each man that jumps out from behind cover with their guns raised. The rest cover him from the back, firing into the rooms and empty doorways as more of Bronte's men come out of hiding with their rifles and handguns. 

Two men kick the front door in and move to shoot, the bullets from behind Arthur lodging into their throats and their chests before they can. 

''Alright,'' Dutch says. ''Let's spread out. He's hiding somewhere.''

He takes to the stairs, John behind him as a figure moves out from behind the banister. He cocks the gun and pulls the trigger, the blow from the shotgun firing the man through the large stain-glass window and into the bushes below. 

''Lenny, keep that door covered.'' he tells the youngest man as he continues up the steps.

''Bronte must be up there.'' John says. 

They begin to clear the upstairs rooms out, security that had been hiding behind beds or dressers being shot and killed on sight until they arrive to Bronte's master bedroom. Arthur knocks a guard unconscious with the butt of his gun, calling for John as he sees Bronte move in the large porcelain bathtub. 

The Italian stands, raising a semi-automatic pistol to the biker before it jams, the man yelling and throwing it. It hits John in the nose, the younger man stumbling back as Arthur lowers the shotgun and takes slow steps towards Bronte. 

''No, no, I am sorry friend,'' Bronte begins spewing apologies and excuses in hopes of surviving. ''No, name your price! Every man have a price.''

John stands straight and approaches him, Bronte stepping back towards the tub as the biker brings his fist across his face and knocks him unconscious. 

''Should we kill 'im?'' John asks, standing over Bronte. Arthur comes to his shoulder, leaning down to pick the Italian up.

''Nah, let's get 'im to Dutch.''

As they descend the stairs, more begin filing in with guns, the biker shooting them back and Lenny leading them out the back door and towards Thomas' boat. Arthur carries Bronte over his shoulder, firing his pistol as the rest cover each other before they slump Bronte into Thomas' boat and clamber in, pushing it off of the shore. 

Thomas steers them from the mansion, blue and red lights surrounding it as they disappear into the darkness of the bay. 

They're some ways further down the water when Dutch smacks Bronte awake, Arthur sitting beside him as the gang president leans over the Italian and speaks to him. 

''Hey, big man. We gonna ransom you or what?''

Bronte scoffs, struggling against the binds on his wrists as he shuffles to sit up. 

''Ugh, you're pathetic.''

''Oh, I am?'' Dutch asks as he sits back on his seat on the boat, resting his hand on his thigh. ''Cause from where I'm sittin', you're the one deservin' of pity, my friend.''

The Van Der Linde's sit behind Dutch, gripping their guns still and staring at Bronte as Thomas steers them through the water. 

''All your men. All your money. It weren't no match for a buncha bumpkins-''

''You are nothing!'' Bronte seethes.  ''You do nothing, you  _mean_  nothing. You  _stand for nothing_. Me? I run a city... and when the law catch up to you, you will die like nothing. I am this country, you-you are what people run from.''

''I possess things you will never understand.'' Dutch tells him, dark eyes staring at Bronte. 

''You don't even possess your own men! A thousand dollars to the first man who kills him and sets me free.''

Arthur sits back and looks over his shoulder to the rest of the men, turning his eyes to Bronte as silence washes over them and their gazes watch the Italian. Bronte's eyes flicker in fear as he stares back at them, shuffling to sit higher. 

''What are you gonna say now?'' Dutch asks as he leans closer. 

''They-they are even bigger fools than you!'' 

''No doubt.''

''The law  _will_  find you. Already the dogs are on their way!''

'' _Oh yeah_ ,'' Dutch stands, growing closer to Bronte as his men watch and Arthur moves back out of the gang president's way. ''Oh, you are so right! They  _are_  good at smellin' filth, huh?'' Arthur looks over his shoulder towards the rest of the men who are now standing with him as Dutch grips the back of Bronte's head. ''So filth has got to be disposed of!''

Arthur feels his breath hitch as Dutch shoves Bronte's head into the water, the man screaming beneath the bay surface as Dutch continues speaking. 

''Your friends, the feds, are gonna come and rescue you!?'' he drags Bronte back up for air to meet his eyes before slamming him back in again. ''You  _repulsive little maggot_!''

Dutch seethes and holds Bronte's shaking body under the water as the boat reaches the pier, Arthur grabbing the rope and tying it to the wood as the rest stand close to Thomas, watching in the same shocked silence as the gang leader continues with Bronte. 

'' _Call them now!_  You call them!'' John just barely reaches for Arthur at his side as the bubbles gliding to the surface of the water slows and Bronte's struggling begins to stop. Arthur can only stare at the form of Dutch as he breathes in heavily and watches a fin poke from the gentle waves. Bronte's thighs are gripped and his body is thrown overboard, Dutch standing and pushing his sunglasses back up his nose. 

''Jesus...'' John says, the rest climbing from the boat. ''What part of your philosophy books cover feedin' a feller to a goddamn shark, Dutch?''

''The part that covers weakness.'' the older man responds, still catching his breath as Lenny climbs out of the boat after Bill. ''That part.''

''I don't know.'' Thomas clambers out as well, Arthur still frozen on the boat. 

''Well I do!'' Dutch spits, looking to John as he turns to step up onto the pier himself. ''It ain't nice, I know it. But it is  _us_ , or  _him_. I figure it might as well be him...''

Arthur finally shows some recognition of response as he looks up to watch Dutch strolling from the pier, John standing at his side and watching the rippling water before they both climb up onto the pier. The older biker glances to the gang leader for a moment until his eyes turn back, watching the spot of water spread red in blood. 

-

Dutch is no less insufferable or irritable when they arrive back at their camp in the hills. Molly bursts from the doors to wrap her arms around him in her surprise visit but Dutch shrugs her off and causes her to stumble back in the doorway as he pursues the dark of the mansion. 

Arthur steps away from his motorbike, removing his helmet as John and Lenny pull their motorcycles up to park while Hosea approaches him. 

''When she get here?'' Arthur asks quietly, referring to the now sad and pouty Molly who follows after Dutch into the dark. 

''A few hours ago.'' Hosea answers, watching the doorway of the mansion. ''She wanted to surprise him when he got back. She even brought cake and wine for them to share.''

''She'd do better to give 'im some space.''

''I can tell. What happened? Where's Bronte?''

John and Arthur share a glance before the younger man scurries off with Lenny towards their own rooms. 

''Dutch...'' the road captain strains, Hosea's eyes studying his face before he sighs. ''Dutch killed him, Hosea.''

''Killed him?''

He nods. 

''He drowned 'im in the bay and then... tossed him to a shark.''

The older man's mouth hangs open partially before he presses thin lips together in a hard line, eyebrows pulling together as he nods his head. 

''Give him space for tonight.'' he recommends. 

''We were already plannin' on that.''

''I'm sure you were. I think that discussing the bank job tomorrow might... help calm him, or at least distract him for a while.''

Arthur nods and watches Hosea shift to head into the dark hole of the mansion. 

-

''I'm tellin' you, Dutch, this is the right plan to do this job. The distraction'll buy you all the time you need.''

''I... don't like it...''

Arthur is cleaning his jacket, scrubbing the strong insignia on the back as he leans forward in a desk chair that had been thrown in the center of the room when the previous owners had made a run for it. 

''It's the right plan. We've done the work, I've been in town, looking and watching and waiting. We've seen how the alarm bells react, mapped out where the guards are, tested the response time of the police and the best exits- this is the right plan.''

''I know! I'm just... well, between you and me I'm... nervous, I suppose. I suppose that's it.''

''You're never nervous, that's been my job all these years.''

'' _I know_.''

Hosea chuckles lightly, leaning over the table with his palms pressed against the surface as Dutch rests his cheekbone against his wrist. 

''You're sure?'' Dutch asks. 

''Certain. Well... not certain it  _will_  be done but certain that it  _can_  be done. And certain that this is the  _only_  way that we can do it. I've timed it out more than once.''

''You're the expert.''

Arthur sets his jacket aside to dry and stands from the chair, feeling his chest and his leg muscles strain as he approaches the two older men. 

''Gentlemen.'' he says. 

Hosea and Dutch both lift dark eyes to him until the oldest man's finger points back to the blueprints of the bank he nicked while in the city. 

''Look, the bank. I sent everyone I could, they all say the same thing: there's no more than two armed guards in the front foyer. There's only a couple more in the break room waiting all day for something to happen. And the police... it's a city, there are police, but as far as we can tell all of the patrols will be going to opposite way when I trigger the diversion.  _That's_  the opportunity-''

''What do you think, Arthur?'' Dutch asks as he leans back in his seat, raising his head to the younger man. 

''I don't see we have a lot of choice.'' he looks up at Hosea. ''We linger 'round here much longer we're sure to get caught by cops and the feds, not to mention the gangs gunnin' for us. We know we'll be dead.''

''But the plan.'' Dutch's hands motion to the blueprints spread out on the table.

''We got a decent bunch, we know how to fight. The city cops, they don't seem that tough as long as we move fast. And quietly. I reckon doin' it in the day-'' he points to the red marker that trails around the blueprints. ''-with a diversion. If that's what Hosea's sayin'. It's as good a plan as any.''

''I-I think I agree...'' Dutch lowers his hand from his chin. 

''We do it at night we have the drama of triggering all of the security alarms before we even get anywhere  _near_  the safe.'' Hosea says, thumb pressed against the corner of his mouth. ''We can't do that silently, they'll pick us off far easier.''

''I know I'm-'' Dutch raises his hands. ''-I'm just makin' sure.''

Hosea's hand drops and he points to the map. 

''Every plan is a good plan if we execute it properly.'' he explains. ''Every problem we had is because we  _did not_   ** _execute properly_**. Even Las Vegas, from my understanding.''

Dutch nods quietly, hands pressed against the table again as he glances between the two men around him. 

''You're right...'' he states, standing and inhaling heavily. He presses the tips of his fingers to the blueprints as his eyes flicker between his right hand men. ''Let's rob this bastard.''


	30. Banking, the American Art

Arthur pushes the front doors of the quiet mansion open dressed in the suit he wore the night of the boat robbery, patting the arms down and adjusting the blue necktie as Dutch's voice cuts in from the cars parked on the driveway. 

''Got everything, Arthur?''

He raises his eyes, seeing the rest of the gang milling about and putting wrapped guns into the back of the trucks, bags containing their masks following while Micah follows Hosea to the two door Honda. 

''Sure.'' he responds. 

''So,'' Hosea catches his attention as he opens the driver side door. ''We rob ourselves a bank, and within six weeks we're livin' life anew in a tropical idyll spendin' our last days as banana farmers? Let's get ourselves out of this godforsaken place and rob ourselves a bank!''

The group of bikers cheer, dressed in their best suits and formal clothing to hit the reserve in the city. Arthur rides in the front seat as Dutch drives, John and Charles pushed in the back as Javier and Bill drive in the back in one of the many stolen trucks the gang now owned. Micah rides shotgun beside Hosea in the front car, crackling coming in on the earpieces as everyone makes sure their pieces work. 

''This is it, gentlemen. The last one.'' Dutch tells them. 

''Where have we heard that before?'' John huffs from the backseat. 

''What has happened to you, John? You lost all your heart.''

''I'm just tryin' to stay real about this. We're hittin' a big bank in the heart of one of America's busiest cities and thinkin' we're gonna get away without a trace.''

'' 'Real'? Oh, how I detest that word. So devoid of imagination.''

''How soon are we shippin' out?'' Micah's voice crackles in on their radio frequency. 

''Soon as we get passage organized.'' Dutch tells him, resting his elbow on the windowsill of the car. ''Boat down to Argentina, and then another around the cape.''

''What about the money in Las Vegas? The cash we left behind?''

''Forget that! It's gone now. You all talk like it's the only goddamn money in the world. We're gonna take that and more. Take it from the people who take it from us. This isn't some hick town, hundred dollar operation... this is a big city bank!''

''Right.'' John speaks from the backseat again as they pull onto the freeway. ''With security, guards, police.''

''Hosea has done his reconnaissance, we've been over this. The plan.  _One last time_. Hosea and Micah draw out the police, we go in calm and fast, taking down the guards first. John and Lenny keep the front door covered, and closed while Javier, Bill, and Charles control the crowd. No doubt the rest of the guards will come downstairs while we're hittin' it so everyone will have to be aware. Me and Arthur deal with the bank tellers and the vault. Got it?''

There's agreement over the headset, separate voices talking at different tones. 

''Good. Alright, that's enough talk. Let's get this done.''

''Allow us to go ahead.'' Hosea speaks into the line. 

''How long do you need?''

''Not long. Fifteen minutes or less to really get all the attention we can get. You'll know by the noise. Any problems, we'll see you in camp.''

''Ride on.'' Dutch says. 

They watch the two door car break away from the formation of vehicles into the lanes beside them, cutting in front of cars and jumping ahead of the traffic around them as Dutch slows behind a large delivery truck in front of them. 

''We head in hard and stay calm.'' he tells them. ''They won't be expectin' us. Any minor trouble, head back to camp. We'll leave in a few days. You good, Bill?''

''Sure.''

''Then go on ahead with Javier.'' Arthur tells him, watching their car behind theirs in the rear view mirror. ''We don't wanna be too obvious.''

It pulls away and into the right lanes of traffic, driving past across the bridge.

''This is it, cowboys!'' Dutch is smiling beside him. ''One more time!''

Arthur sighs, stretching his legs in the footwell. 

'' _One more time_.''

They drive into the city, maneuvering traffic and pedestrians until they park some distance down the road. Arthur spots Bill and Javier walking from the opposite side of the street towards the city bank, raising his hand subtly as motion for them to stop where they were. Javier slows while Bill continues, meeting them at the sidewalk as Dutch climbs out of the car and shuts the door. 

''Robbin' thieves,'' he says. ''It ain't no crime at all. Folk like this, they stole what this country could have been.''

Dutch lights his cigar and places it between his lips as Javier leans against the columns in front of the bank with a phone in his hands that he pretends to check. 

''Stay cool, act natural.'' he reminds them. ''Wait for Hosea to do his thing.''

''Looks like there's law on the other side.'' John says. 

''Have a modicum of faith, John, will you please? Soon as we get out, load everything into the cars.'' A large explosion sounds from their left and the group of bikers lift their eyes to the noise to see a column of smoke and steam rising into the blue sky. Dutch laughs loudly. ''I love that Hosea! He is a true artist.''

The officers jog off to follow the smoke as their radios begin going crazy and people scream in the distance. More on horseback and motorcycles ride past as Dutch begins to cross the road with his bag over his shoulder. They each follow him while cop cars start their sirens and flash their lights, all eyes on the explosion instead of them. 

Arthur clears his throat and coughs gently as he trails behind the group, looking up and down the stopped road as they close in on the large white bank in front of them. Lenny takes one side of the doorway and John the other, the rest stepping inside and shutting the wide doors behind them. Javier wraps zip-ties around the doorknobs and steps back, pulling masks over their faces. 

They bring down the first two guards, rushing the foyer of people and forcing them onto the ground with their hands where they could see them. They begin controlling the crowd as Arthur follows Dutch to the gate doors, bringing the guards that rush down the steps down while Javier grabs the tellers and forces them to open the gate inside. 

She holds her hands up and shuffles quickly to the gate with guns raised to her face. She fumbles with the keys before unlocking it, Arthur grabbing her and using her as a shield as the final guards come down the steps. Dutch shoots them and the camera on the stairwell as the road captain forces the girl on to the vault door where she puts the code in and opens it up. 

Dutch grips her arm and drags her inside with them as they get the bags ready and have her open the safes for them. 

''I-I can't-'' she says. 

''You can.'' Dutch tells her, dark eyes shining from under his mask. ''You can, just get them open and we won't hurt you.''

She cries as she opens the safes for them, Arthur throwing in the looser bails of cash and leaving the larger portions for Dutch to sift through to find the dye packs. He pulls foil from his bag, wrapping the larger bits in aluminum before throwing them into their sacks and dragging the girl back out into the foyer where the rest of the hostages were huddled together in a big space. 

Bill was shouting over them, Charles and Javier some further distance behind to catch the filled bags of money. 

''This is goin' good, Dutch.'' Arthur tells him when he steps back into the vault, clearing the rest and shutting the safes. 

''What did I tell you?'' the older man asks, eyes shining as they exit the vault. 

Sunlight floods the foyer momentarily as John and Lenny run inside, shoving the doors closed again as Charles runs to them with an extra pair of zip-ties, Micah with them and panting heavily as he's doubled over.

''What the hell-'' Arthur begins. 

''What are you doing here?'' Dutch shouts to the blond who stands, letting out an exasperated breath. 

''They-'' he swallows, pointing his thumb to the doors. ''The feds- they got Hosea.''

'' _What?_ '' Arthur steps forward. 

''We triggered that explosion, got all the cops there, tried to act like we were caught in some bad sewer explosion but they recognized him.'' Micah stumbles forward, pistol in his hand. ''I'm sorry, Dutch. They shouted his name and then they were shootin' and I had to run, I couldn't stay with him.''

''Did you see him get shot?'' Arthur asks, Dutch silent. ''Or are you makin' up some big story?''

''I saw him get shot!'' Micah shouts in return, spitting on Arthur's mask. ''They were firin' at us and he dropped! I had to get outta there!''

''You're lettin' 'im get caught!'' 

''Fuck off! They can't catch a dead man.'' 

Arthur feels his stomach churn and his throat burn as someone from the windows shouts. 

''We got company!''

''Dutch!'' its Milton. ''Dutch, get out here now!''

The road captain brushes past the stiff Dutch to the windows beside Charles, looking outside to the wall of federal agents, SWAT, and police officers in front of them. 

''Shit...'' he mutters. 

''How are we gonna get out now?'' Bill asks. 

''Get out here now!'' Milton repeats from the road. 

Dutch's eyelids flutter before he comes to the window beside Arthur, peering out towards the agent.

''Your friend isn't here to save you, Dutch.'' Milton says. ''He can't. Not while there's a bullet in his heart.''

Arthur watches Dutch's eyes turn away to the floor of the bank, mouth open and face... scared.

'' _Hosea_.'' he whispers. The mourning lasts seconds before his eyebrows furrow and his eyes narrow, peering back out the window. ''Hosea! Goddamn it! Kill these bastards!''

He shoots the glass and hears the rest of the windows shatter around them, the bikers firing out of the window towards the officers in front of them. Bullet-proof shields are lifted as a wall of protection as their rain of enraged gunfire spreads, Arthur biting back the burn in his eyes, the ache in his throat, and the rage in his chest. 

''Hosea!'' he hears Lenny shouting over the explosions. ''They killed Hosea!''

''Goddamn it!'' John cuts in. ''I knew this was a bad idea!''

''Hold them back!'' Dutch orders, stepping away from the window. ''I got an idea.''

''What?'' Arthur asks. 

''Just keep shootin'!'' 

''Help me here, Arthur!'' Charles shouts. ''We got trucks coming in from the left!''

He aims out the window as he hears Dutch.

''Arthur!'' Dutch shouts from the gates of the vault. ''Are you alive?''

''Just about!'' he responds, ducking as a shot causes the windowsill to explode. Dutch is standing in the midst of a rain of gunfire, destroying books and papers around him as he motions him on. 

''Get over here!''

Arthur pushes away from the windows, keeping his head down before he slides through the gap in the teller's gate and drops at Dutch's side. 

''There's no way that we are gettin' out that door.'' Dutch tells him, Micah sliding around the counter in front of them and handing something over from his belt. A grenade lands in his hand, Dutch gripping it and holding it up as Arthur's eyes widen. ''You go to that wall over there, blow a big hole in the side of it and get us some cover.''

He takes it carefully in his hand, eyes still wide before he stands and hooks his finger around the pin. 

''Grenade!'' he shouts. ''Stay down!''

Arthur throws it and watches it hit the corner between two walls, rolling to a stop before it blows and causes the entirety of the base to explode. The ripple of heat breaks the lightbulbs in the lamps around them and Arthur covers his face as he stumbles back. 

''Climb that ladder!'' Dutch points outside to the black metal ladder scaling the wall of the next building. ''Give us that cover and we'll follow you up.''

Arthur runs to it, Javier tossing him a machine rifle before he climbs up the ladder to the next rooftop. He hops over the barrier and hides behind the sign of the building, slamming the magazine inside and firing. It's a powerful gun and it rips through the protection the officers had as the bikers inside the bank continue firing. 

Micah, Lenny, and Dutch are the first to follow him up, Arthur dropping the empty magazine onto the ground as Lenny hands him another and peers down onto the now empty street. 

''We lost John.'' Dutch tells him. 

''Killed?''

''No, arrested. I couldn't help.'' Arthur sighs, his heart pumping heavily in his chest as he looks to Lenny and gives a quick glance to Micah. 

''Well we better go or we'll be next.'' the gunfire continues below. 

''What you think?''

''I reckon me and Lenny find a way across these roofs-'' the rest climb up the ladder and move around their conversation. ''-if you'll cover us.''

''Sure sure,'' Dutch points. ''Go on, go along.''

Lenny looks up to Arthur and jogs with him across the roofs, Arthur leaving the machine rifle behind with the rest as he pulls his pistol from the waistcoat of his suit. Lenny is the first to hop onto the next roof, pointing as he sees a way out. 

''We can get out through here!''

The door beside him bursts open and Arthur raises his pistol, firing as the officers fire their shots into Lenny's side. He drops and hits the concrete rooftop, Arthur hearing a crack as his head connects with the cement. The cops follow his descent as the biker runs to the younger man's side. 

''Dutch!'' he shouts, Lenny's eyes rolling around in a confused gaze. ''They got Lenny!''

Charles runs to Arthur's shoulder, kneeling with him. 

''Goddamn them!'' Dutch jogs to his side, the rest moving on along the rooftops as Javier takes a second look to Lenny on the ground, slowing. ''We got to keep going or they'll get all of us!''

Charles removes his jacket and Javier helps to get Lenny to sit up and his own coat off. They wrap Lenny in it and drag him to stand, the young man concussed and injured. Arthur rips a hat off of one of the dead men's heads and pulls it over Lenny's eyes, the three of them dragging him on. 

''Arthur!'' Dutch shouts. 

They bring Lenny with them, his hip bleeding and his head wound growing worse even as Javier wraps his tie around it. 

''It's a head wound.'' Javier says. ''It'll bleed lots but as long as his side is checked out, he'll be okay.''

Arthur and Charles continue to drag a partially unconscious Lenny across the rooftops towards the open window of an abandoned apartment that the rest were climbing in through. They stuff him inside and prop him up against the wall, Arthur kneeling with him with his blood on the front of his jacket that Charles rips off of him and stashes in one of the drawers of the dusty dressers. 

''You can't bring a dead man with us, Morgan.'' Micah says from the corner beside a window. He barely gives him recognition, looking at his waist through his open jacket where a belt of grenades sit. 

''We won't.'' Charles answers. 

Dutch is pacing the floor, gripping his pistols in his hands with his mask resting on top of his head while the rest try to calm themselves from the adrenaline rush. Arthur knows he's going through everything in his head, trying to map a way out of the city for them. 

''What now?'' Bill asks, sitting on the floor. 

''I don't know...'' Dutch answers truthfully. ''Not yet, anyways. This whole town is filled with cops.''

''Well how long we gonna stay here?'' Arthur asks, referencing the small studio apartment they were crammed into. ''A-A few hours?''

''We go back to camp, they're gonna get every last one of us. I know they're gonna be watchin' the roads.... I got it. A  _boat_.''

Arthur pulls his eyes from a green colored Lenny, studying Dutch. 

''What you mean?''

''We stay here, 'til night fall, then we sneak on down to the pier and get ourself out of here.''

''Yeah, but to where?'' Bill growls. 

''Any place will do.'' Dutch says, seating himself. ''Right now, that's all I got. We leave, we lie low. We come back for the rest in a couple of weeks. 

''What about Lenny?'' Javier asks. 

Lenny begins to lean away from Charles and Arthur, grabbing for the lampshade on the dusty floor beside him to puke into. Arthur leans back on his heels and rubs the boy's back as Charles checks the wounds on his side. 

''I don't know.'' Arthur responds quietly. ''I couldn't have let him die on that rooftop or let the cops get him.''

''When we go, we can get him in a car or something, somewhere.'' Charles says. ''Just have him drive. He can say he got caught in the scuffle back when the explosion went off or something. The cops who saw him won't be able to say anything, we killed them.''

Arthur nods, Lenny slumping back against the two older men as his eyes grow lidded. 

-

The group checks the silent roads and streets for officers when the night rises upon them. Arthur and Charles continue supporting Lenny between them as they follow the group, stopping in the dark as a helicopter whirs overhead with its spotlight on. Once it passes they move again, Charles and Arthur dragging Lenny with them as the rest continue on towards the docks. 

They sit Lenny down and change his clothing, leaving his bloody shirt on. Arthur pats his cheek, forcing him to open his eyes and look up. 

''Look at me, kid.'' Arthur tells him. ''You got any strength left?''

Lenny nods. 

''It's my head...''

Arthur motions for Charles to follow the group as he helps Lenny to his feet and points towards the end of the road. 

''You know what you gotta do?''

''Tell them I got caught up in the explosion.''

''That's right.'' he nods. ''Get yourself checked out, then get home when you can.''

''Where's home?''

''Mrs. Adler, at least.''

''Alright...'' Lenny begins limping away, holding his side. 

''Be careful, Lenny.'' 

Lenny slows, looking over his shoulder at him from under his ball cap. 

''Good luck.''

Arthur nods, watching Lenny continue down the road for a moment longer before he remembers the rest of the group waiting for him. He catches up and crouches with them in the dark, following directly behind Dutch through the train station. They go up inside the old train to hide from the officers who searches for them with their flashlights, muttering about Milton and their higher officials before they carry on through the city. 

He hears one of their radios flicker about a bleeding man needing medical attention and they rush off to aid who he guessed was Lenny getting the help he needed desperately. Dutch continues through the train, Arthur behind him as they reach the end of the station and peer around the corner towards the officers standing and waiting in the harsh rain. 

''Shit,'' Dutch stops Arthur with his hand. ''We can't get past these fellers... head over to the water, just there and draw 'em out.''

''And how do you expect me to do that?''

''I'm sure you can find away.''

''Alright...''

Arthur uses the dark to his advantage, moving past cargo and boxes closest to the corner of the pier where he lets out a whistle and presses himself against his cover. 

''Huh?'' a guard asks. ''What was that?''

''I don't know... let's check it out.''

Arthur watches them through the cracks of two barrels as they comes around his right side, the biker quickly diving out of the way and rushing back to Dutch who was following the side of the wall towards the large boat at the end of the pier. 

''Good work, Arthur.'' he waves the rest of the men onwards and they continue to the group of guards who stand with their guns in their hands in the rain, wires in their ears. 

''We've wasted enough time on these fools...'' one says, under the protection of the only umbrella to smoke. ''Spencer said they shot one-''

''See them?'' Dutch asks him, both pressed on either side of hard metal cargo boxes. 

''Sure.''

''What you think?''

''They're watching for us.'' Charles tells him, eyes moving around the side of the cover to the group. 

''Maybe... maybe not.'' Dutch answers. 

''Well, they ain't just waitin' there for no reason!'' 

''Yeah... let me think for a second...''

Charles sighs. 

''I'll deal with them.'' 

Arthur's eyes raise to the other man's face, watching water droplets slide down past his eyes and drip off of his jaw. 

''What? How?'' Dutch asks. 

''I can't kill all of the silently so, when they chase me, you go the other way.''

''What are you talkin' about?''

''You heard what I said.'' Charles springs from cover, walking towards the group casually. 

'' _Oh_ , I like him...'' Dutch purrs. 

''Real brave.''  _And deadly_ , Arthur thinks. 

Charles strolls to the group, capturing the officer's attention and running the moment they speak to him. They sprint after him, grabbing their radios and phoning it in to the rest of the officers and detectives waiting in the city. 

''That is one of the most beautiful acts I ever saw.'' Dutch says, hand gripping the strap of his bag. ''Come on.''

The group jogs away to the large boat, filing on and hiding. 


	31. Kind and Benevolent

''This boat ain't goin' to Tahiti by any chance?'' Arthur asks. 

He and Dutch are hiding between two large boxes on the deck of the boat, their jackets abandoned. 

''I don't know...'' Dutch responds. ''John, Lenny, Hosea...'' he lifts his eyes to the stars above them, gaze hard and in pain. ''That wasn't good.''

''I know. So what we gonna do now?''

A crew member coughs and comes into their view on deck, looking over the waves behind them. 

''Guess I'm gonna introduce myself to the captain.'' the older man says quietly. ''Give him some of the cash and gold to secure his silence and find out where we're headin'. How do I look?''

''Like a shifty, no-good killer on the run from the law.''

''Ain't that the truth.'' Dutch says and stands, smoothing out his waistcoat. 

He watches the older man introduce himself to the ship mate as Arthur sinks back into the dark between the cargo boxes, sighing. 

His chest hurt. The idea that Hosea was no longer with them was... unnatural, to say the least. Arthur had been barely out of high school and was already in trouble with the local law enforcement when Hosea and Dutch saved him from himself and helped better him for the world. Sure, his betterment involved crimes but he wasn't dead in his hometown with no one but the preacher to remember his name. 

They became his family. The unruly couple and their angry son, that was them. Hosea taught him the better side of the world, he helped him broaden his horizons and got him back into sketching and drawing. Hosea even bought him a few charcoal sets and a small easel one year and continued to get him drawing pencils regularly after that. 

Hosea was always the voice of reason and without it... well, Arthur wasn't sure where things were going to end up if Hosea wasn't there to be the island of sanity in an ocean of chaos. 

-

''Well,'' Dutch's voice cuts in and Arthur lifts his head, sun shining brightly on his face. ''It's gonna take some more gold but I think we're gonna be okay.''

Arthur wipes his eyes and stands, yawning to follow Dutch out from between the crates. 

''This Captain, he is a fine feller.'' Dutch explains. ''A New Englander, from the Cape. The rest of the ship is Frenchmen. They're headin' for  _Islas Galápagos_  with some coal. Now, apparently we're goin' to be able to slip ashore in Ecuador in a couple of days.''

''That so?''

''Apparently.''

His mind wanders as they regroup with the rest, Bill, Javier, and Micah each roughed up from their trip onto the boat and no doubt experiencing seasickness from their first exposure to a boat and the ocean. 

''What are we gonna do in Ecuador, Dutch?'' Bill asks. 

''Hold up for a while, then hurry back and gather up the rest of our family.'' the oldest man responds. ''We got money now, money and loyalty. With that you can do whatever you please.''

''So you reckon they're gonna follow us to Ecuador?'' 

''No. We're too far out, they'll be after Charles, now.''

''If they haven't already swarmed the clubhouse back home.'' Javier says. ''We still have lots of family and money there.''

''I know.'' Dutch says. ''I highly doubt that they'll be comin' after us in a boat in the middle of the ocean. I reckon we hold ourselves  _to_  ourselves and this is done and dusted.''

''Let's hope so.'' Arthur finishes. 

-

They arrive to  _Isla Isabela_  with their deliveries before shipping off to Ecuador, the bikers clambering from the boat and disappearing into  _Manta_ , a city on the shore that allows them easy hiding in the humid air. 

Dutch's first order of business is getting the American dollar translated to what currency they needed only to find out they used the American dollar and coin. He hands a certain amount out to each man and directs them to the shops to find fresh clothing as he went off to get his own clothes and find a hotel for them to stay at. 

Arthur is pulling on boots in some clothing store when he hears Javier hiss in pain from the small dressing room. 

''Javier?'' he asks, stopped with his fingers gripped around the tongue of the boot. ''You alright?''

''Fine, I just...'' he hears the other man sigh. ''I think I pulled something in my leg when getting out of there.''

Javier steps out of the dressing room, new pants and shoes on as he buttons his shirt up. 

''You spendin' all your money on just that?'' Arthur asks as he stands, smiling. 

''Listen, brother, I like my clothing.'' he says. ''You done?''

Arthur grabs a new backpack on the way out and walks with Javier down the sidewalk towards the store Bill and Micah had slipped into earlier. 

''Stopping for Lenny, that was...'' Javier begins. 

''Risky, I know.''

''Yeah, but good of you. It was better than letting him die on that rooftop or letting the pigs find him. I hope that the cops and the hospital believed him about his injury.''

''He's a smart kid, he'll find his way out of it and get back to Sadie.''

''And Charles?''

''He's strong and tough, but he's also good at bein' quiet and sneakin'. I'm sure he's fine too if he's not back with Sadie already.''

''...Hosea?''

Arthur is silent for a moment as they walk down the sidewalk with cars honking around them and the city busying itself as if Hosea's death never happened. 

''I don't... know.'' he finally says. ''Micah said that the cops began shootin' and that he ran the moment it started. He's sure Hosea got shot in that mess but if he didn't witness it then...''

''You think he's lying?''

''Not lying, but I'm still hopeful that maybe he's just wrong.''

Javier gives a quiet, solemn nod as he pushes the shop door open and listens to the bell chime. The shop smells like fried food and it's hot indoors, a fan pushing itself to cool the room down as Arthur seats himself at a table and Javier asks for some cash to order them something to eat. 

He pulls the bills from his pocket and hands them over, leaning back in his seat as Javier approaches the counter and begins speaking to the woman in front of him, stumbling over their slight language barrier before ordering them food. Javier points to the bands on her wrist and she hands one of her hair ties over at the expense of his kind smile before turning around to begin their food.

Javier pulls the band over his wrist to comb his fingers through his hair that lays over his shoulders, sighing as he pulls knots out. Arthur opens the bottle of water the other brought him and sips it, leaning against the table tiredly. 

''Did Dutch say anything else about us getting off this island?'' Javier asks. 

''Not really.'' Arthur looks past Javier to the owner working in the kitchen. ''He said just lay low for a while and keep to ourselves.''

''Is he actually going to this time?''

Arthur finds the room to snort. 

''I sure hope so.''

He fetches the food and Javier an iced bottle of soda, the two sharing the meal in slow, tired bites until Bill and Micah arrive. Arthur stands and excuses himself outside for some fresh air, the humidity hitting him the moment he steps outside. He feels sweat beading on his forehead when a hand touches his shoulder, Arthur jerking aside.

''Hey, son,'' its Dutch, holding his hands up. ''It's just me.''

''Sorry...'' he responds. 

''The others inside?''

He nods, Dutch pushing the door open and stepping in. Arthur sits back down as Dutch pulls his own chair up, waving to the owner of the place before he seats himself and leans in to the others. 

''That Captain said that we'll be here no more than a few weeks.'' Dutch begins explaining. ''I think we can get some good deals goin' down here.'' The rest shift uncomfortably, Bill continuing to eat his food to avoid having to speak as Javier sips on his straw. Dutch looks at each of them as if expecting an answer from one of them. ''Come on... one of you, at least.''

''Did you find a place for us to stay?'' Arthur asks. 

'' _Yes_... I did. Everything is within walkin' distance, easy for you lazy bums.'' Dutch sits back, sighing but the exhaustion is starting to wear on his face too. It's odd to see the rest of his facial hair growing in and his black hair hanging around his face. 

''Sure, some deals would be good.'' Arthur sighs. ''But, right now I think we're  _all_ -''

''I know, son. I know.'' he pulls the room keys from his pocket. ''Take these, we're all gonna have to share rooms with each other so choose while you can. Arthur, I expect to see you sometime tonight.''

Arthur tries to get some sleep in before the night rises but Bill snores too loudly for him to get any proper rest. He stands from his bed and leaves Williamson in the room to find Dutch in the hotel. The older man has got his hands on a case of cigars, smoking one in the night air of Manta as Arthur approaches with tired eyes and a short cough leaving his chest. Dutch turns his head to him, blowing smoke from his mouth. 

''What are we doin'?'' Arthur asks. 

''I sent Javier out to do some scoping around, but he hasn't come back yet.''

''Where?''

'' _La Revancha?_  I think that's its name...''

''What's out there?''

''I heard from some tourists that there was a money makin' opportunity.''

Arthur follows him from the hotel, eyes trained on the ground. 

''What happened to layin' low? Again?''

''Don't use that tone with me, Arthur. I thought we could do this fast and if it was a waste of time then leave it. We'll get Javier and come back.''

They arrive at La Revancha and try to quietly search for Javier. The man is found inside an empty market, strung up by his ankle and hanging in pain with a group of men dressed in soldier's gear stand around him and laugh. The other two stare from outside and Arthur slides down the wall, Dutch lowering himself. 

''What now?'' Arthur asks. 

''We gotta go in and get him.''

'' _But how?_ ''

''I ain't sure yet, Arthur! Let me have a goddamn moment to just  _think_!''

Arthur sits in silence as Dutch looks over his shoulder, peering at their surroundings before pointing to the large amount of sugar bags surrounding clay, unlit ovens. Dutch reaches into his pocket and pulls out his new case of matches, handing some to Arthur. 

''Get these ovens lit, I'll get the bags.''

The younger man stands as Dutch begins ripping the bags open, sugar pouring out on the ground while Arthur strikes the matches on the heel of his boot. They light first time, the younger man lifting the flame to his eyes before tossing them inside the ovens. Dutch begins working the flames of the furnace higher, both throwing sugar around and creating enough dust until the older man pulls him away from the small building. 

''Head on out and wait-'' Dutch tells him, lighting another match. ''-while I get this goin'.''

Arthur steps away and moves around the buildings outside, peering at Javier as the rope around his ankle is suddenly cut and he drops to the ground. Dutch reaches his shoulder, pointing to the well in front of them. 

''We don't want to be too close when that goes up.'' the older man tells him. ''Hide there.''

They both crouch, both unarmed and hoping until the building beside them explodes. Wood, clay, and brick rain around them, pulling the guards attention away from Javier before they rush to the diversion. The two bikers stand and run to Javier, Arthur tackling one of the guards still standing beside him and cracking his neck before swiping his gun and throwing it to Dutch. 

He begins working on the binds still around Javier's ankle before he drags him to stand and carries him away from the compound, the explosion enough to keep the attention of the rest of the guards away. 

''What happened, Javier?'' Arthur asks as Dutch leads them away, rifle in his grip and eyes watching their surroundings. 

''Ah, fuckers grabbed me when they saw me sniffing around.'' Javier winces and limps. ''Those assholes really hit hard...''

''You'll be okay, son.'' Dutch promises. ''We'll get you back to the hotel and I promise you we'll stay under the radar. Unless you found something.''

''Nothing.'' Javier raises his eyes, stopping Arthur as a guard steps out with a raised gun. Dutch hits him across the face with the rifle in his grip and presses the barrel to his chest when he turns over, suppressing the sound of the gunshot through the man's heart. 

''Alright...'' Dutch steps away. ''Let's get back to that woman.''

The woman who guided them there waits as Arthur sticks Javier in the back of the car and Dutch sits up front with her, the older woman driving them away back towards their hotel. Dutch requests that she park around the back of the hotel and she does so, Arthur helping Javier get out until the youngest man tells him he can do it fine by himself and could get back to their hotel rooms. 

Arthur lets him go as the woman begins hissing something to Dutch, her palm outstretched when he turns around. 

Dutch is standing outside of the vehicle, the woman following him out and gripping his sleeve, forcing him to look at her. She keeps repeating the same word, demanding something from him as the words bounce off of Dutch. 

''More.'' she says. ''You pay more.''

''Okay...'' the older man steps closer to her, raising his hand slowly. ''Just a second.''

She brandishes a knife. 

''Pay more! Pay now.''

Dutch grabs her wrist and wraps his other hand around her throat, slamming her up against the side of the car. Arthur's body tenses as he steps closer, his fingers opening to reach for the older man as his hand tightens around her throat and the knife slips from her grip. 

''Dutch?'' he wraps both hands around her neck, wringing it as he slams her against the car. ''What are you doin'?''

He slams the woman into the side of the car again, then following it with a second time where he hears her neck snap and her head fall to the side limply. A breath leaves her harshly and Dutch drops her, her body landing in a puddle beside the car. 

''What was that?'' Arthur asks, both staring at the body as Dutch grabs her body and throws her into the back of the car, keys in hand. 

''Horrible old crone.'' he says. 

''But you killed her.''

''She was gonna betray us, Arthur.'' Dutch opens the driver's side door. ''Couldn't you tell?''

''No...'' he responds. ''I couldn't.''

''Well I got some Spanish... she was.'' he shifts his weight to sit down. 

''You keep killin' folk, Dutch.'' 

The older man raises his eyes, face blank. 

''I am just tryin' to make sure that some of us survive, Arthur.'' he explains in a low tone, stepping closer. ''Now, shall we proceed?''

Arthur brings his body weight back as Dutch turns to the woman's taxi that she drove them back in, climbing in and slamming the door before revving the engine and driving it away. 


	32. Fleeting Joy

The captain fulfills his promise and they're on his boat in less than two weeks time, sailing away from Ecuador back up to the California coast. They're each put on separate boats and rowed back to shore, Arthur hopping off on the Monterey sand with some of the cash and his new bag. He pulls the heavy fabric coat over his shoulders from the boat and hoists the hood over his head, keeping his eyes low and his hands pushed in his pockets. 

Arthur finds himself beside the State Beach, his eyes scanning the road for any car he could grab. He works the lock of a Prius and drives off, heading for the mansion in the hills of San Francisco. He doesn't pull the hood off the whole way there, knuckles whitening in his grip around the steering wheel. 

He arrives to the mansion driveway just as the sun rises, pulling the car in around back and parking before slamming the back door open and throwing the hood back from his head. 

''Lenny? Molly?'' he shouts. ''Mrs. Adler? Charles?''

He walks through the mansion, finding bare remnants of their having existing on the floor until he finds a letter on the table where Hosea and Dutch had been going over the plans before the bank job. Arthur picks it up and reads over it.

_**Dear Uncle Tacitus,** _

It goes on until mentioning Vacaville, some distance from the mansion but a place they'd found when scavenging for a place to rob with Sean. 

''Milton keeps sending us back everyday to search this place.'' Arthur drops low, fingers pressing against the floor. 

''There quite clearly isn't a gang of bikers holed up here.'' a second voice says. 

''Someone's been here. Look.'' Arthur glares out the window towards the four federal agents crowding the tire tracks outside. ''Those are fresh. Looks like someone might be here right now.''

''Sure, someone is here. There's always someone everywhere.''

''Let's look around, then, see if we can find something for Mr.Milton.''

''Mr.Milton, I'd like to find some poison for him!''

''That's enough, Johns.'' the lead man says, pulling his pistol from its holster on his belt beside his badge. ''You take Bunter and search around back.''

Arthur scoops a jagged piece of glass up off the ground and steps back from the windows, pressing himself against the wall as a man named Orley and another open the front doors and stroll inside. One walks past him to check the corner of the empty room, Arthur shifting behind him and heading for the front doors as the other checks the fireplace on the other side of the living room. 

He sneaks towards the front doors and around the side, checking for the two other detectives as he uses the brush to hide himself, discovering that they obviously found his car. Arthur hears them talking inside before he moves for their bundle of cars at the end of the driveway. 

He sits low in the driver's seat, hot-wiring it before reversing angrily out and speeding down the road from them. Arthur stashes it at a gas station and gets a lift to Vacaville by a nice older couple who chatter about their vacation before dropping him off at the bus station per his request. 

The biker follows what known landmarks he can remember to the house, still gripping the shard of glass as he arrives to the doors of the home, it bursting open as Charles sticks his head out. 

''Arthur!" he shouts. Arthur lets go of the glass and pulls his hands from his coat pockets as Charles greets him and drags him inside. ''Where the hell have you been?''

''Ecuador.'' he answers, Lenny, Molly, and Sadie each greeting him. 

''I heard what happened.'' Sadie tells him as Charles hands over some freshly made food, still warm. ''John hasn't been moved to any big pen yet, but he's still at the county jail.''

Arthur uses the bread to scoop the stew up into his mouth, chewing quickly and practically inhaling the meal. 

''Why haven't they moved 'im yet?'' he asks.

''They want a proper trial first.'' she answers, leaning forward as Molly pulls her jacket tighter around her shoulders, the rain drumming against the roof. ''Cornwall might be huntin' us all to the death but the rest of the system wants proper justice and law.''

He nods, raising his eyes to Lenny and Charles. 

''How'd you two get on?''

''I got treated at the hospital.'' Lenny says, patting his side. ''They didn't ask a lot of questions and kinda pushed me out of the way after stitchin' me back up because they had so many cops to treat. I was just seen as a bystander.''

''I hopped on a boat myself but it only took me to Pismo Beach.'' Charles explains. ''By then, they were all too busy trying to find Dutch to care much about me.''

''What about...'' Arthur swallows his food heavily. ''Hosea?''

''I got into the city morgue.'' Sadie says, shaking her head. ''They must have moved his body along by then because there wasn't anything there.''

He feels the food settle in his stomach, eyes trained hard on the floor. 

When the thunder and lightning strike the ground after dark, the rest get back, Dutch last and soaked to the bone by the rain. He downs the coffee handed to him and dries his hair with a hand towel, letting rest on his head as the drops of rain slide down his tattooed arms onto the floor in a puddle around him. 

''Have you heard anything from Grimshaw back at the clubhouse?'' he asks. 

''She said that more and more feds were surrounding it.'' Charles answers. ''They had to leave and go to... Magdalena?''

Dutch nods, swishing coffee around in his mouth before he swallows it. 

''That's where we first thought about buying land for the clubhouse.'' he explains, passing Micah to sit between Javier and Arthur. ''A long time ago before I met most of you... she took everyone else with her?''

''Everyone and everything she could. All the paperwork, belongings. She paid some men to come and move most of the mechanics stuff out to Magdalena and act like they were buying it off of her. By last week we're officially stationed in New Mexico.''

''That's good of her...'' Dutch sighs, tightening his grip around his cup as Molly wraps her arms around his neck and presses her cheek against the back of his damp head, the older man lowering his head some and causing the black hair to hang around his face ''Everyone is safe?''

''From what I know.''

''Good... things... things have been tough.'' he raises his head again, looking between every person in front of him. ''There ain't no doubt about that. Trust me. I am goin' to get us out of here. This ain't over.''

The door bursts open and a fuming Bill steps outside. 

''I had to ask everyone I knew to find you fools just to figure out you idiots were out here!'' he stomps inside, dripping wet. He steers himself to Sadie who sits unfazed in front of him. ''Shit... get me a drink or somethin'!''

''Get your own damn drink!'' 

''In our absence,'' Dutch stands, Molly catching herself before she falls. ''Mrs. Adler has been taking care of things for us, looking after everybody. Now  _sit down._ ''

Bill grows and lowers himself as a voice booms from outside. 

''This is agent Milton with the Federal Bureau of Investigation!''

''Already?'' Dutch asks, each person standing as he turns to look towards the noise. 

''On behalf of Leviticus Cornwall, the United States Government, and the State of California, we are here to arrest you.'' Dutch is handed his pistols, the dark haired man pushing his black hair from his face as Arthur presses himself against the wall and stares out through the rain towards the officers before checking the older man. Dutch only shrugs. ''Give until the count of five, then give them everything... actually? Let 'em have it.''

The windows shatter entirely and Arthur jumps from the wall onto the ground, crawling away as Dutch shouts for his gang to get on the ground. Arthur crawls, following Sadie who yells for him as the rest scramble and climb to get out of the way of the fast raining bullets that were destroying everything in their path. 

''Where are we goin'?'' he shouts over the noise. 

''There's a door into the garage-'' she explains, both tumbling away from the back patio door of the home and towards the next building. ''-we can get in that way and try to flank 'em!''

They use the short brick fence as their cover, Sadie climbing in through the doorway with Arthur on her tail. She presses herself against one side of the garage door, Arthur the other as she clings to her gun and listens to the gunfire outside. It slowly disappears. 

''Why'd they stop shootin'?'' she asks. 

Arthur peers through the hole in the garage door, watching Milton standing on top of a car and gesturing as if he was God himself. 

''-now I will show strength and you may mistake it for brutality. There is no escape for any of you! I shall hunt you to the ends of the Earth and to the end of time!''

''This idiot is really startin' to get on my damn nerves.'' he mutters, stepping back and raising his arms. Sadie throws him her gun, slamming her hand on the button for the garage door and it raises in the rain, Arthur stepping out and lifting the machine rifle. 

Their heads turn to him, the biker aiming and shooting rapidly, bodies dropping to the ground as Sadie joins from his side and the rest at the house resume their fire as well. They force them back, killing the first wave and causing the rest to retreat some for cover behind the trees after Milton disappears. Sadie and Bill follow behind him, each of them firing with just as much rage as the next one. 

''Get those sons of bitches!'' Arthur roars through the rain, firing their guns into the darkness and the trees at the oncoming agents. 

''We need someone back here!'' he can barely hear Dutch shouting. ''They're comin' up the road!''

''There's more of them!'' Sadie yells. ''Get that rotary canon!''

Arthur throws the rifle back to her and runs through the mud towards the car with the gatling gun on it, gripping the Vulcan gun and hoisting it back up towards the agents. He pulls the trigger, pushing his heel into the roof of the truck to keep himself as steeled as possible as the awesome amount of power erupting from it strained his muscles. 

Sadie shouts directions of agents over the ear-splitting noise of the bullet eruption, Arthur continuing to fire and hoping to God that none of their gang members were out in the woods somewhere as he destroys trees and bodies. He steps back and jumps down once he runs out of ammunition, Sadie handing the gun back to him and they stand together, pressing their backs against each other's as they fire. 

The agents whip back and fall, slamming into the mud or sliding to a stop. Bill runs around the front as the agents begin retreating, running back into the rain as he shoots his gun off angrily until his gun runs out of ammo and it merely clicks in response. 

Arthur lowers his arms and feels his lungs strain, the biker coughing and wiping his mouth as Dutch and Micah exit the house together. He can't seem to quite catch his breath, Arthur leaning against the car and gasping quietly as Dutch approaches. 

''You saved us, Arthur.''

''Well me and-'' Bill comes to his side as Sadie steps back from surveying the trees, a cough leaving his mouth again. ''Bill and Sadie.''

A dry, breathless cough leaves his throat as Dutch grows closer, gun gripped in his hand. 

''You okay, son?'' he asks. 

''Sure.''

''We ain't been back for more than a few days.'' Bill says, Micah leaning over one of the writhing agents on the ground. 

''What...'' Arthur breathes in heavily and lets it settle in his lungs before he raises his eyes to the older man. ''What do we do, Dutch?''

''Clearly we need to leave.'' he responds, arms hanging at his side as the rest step out from the home. ''It'll take them sometime to pack up. Are you sure we have everything from the mansion, Mrs. Adler?''

''Everythin' from the bikes to the bottles of beer.''

''Good... Javier, you and Bill go and scare off any scum still loitering about!'' Bill nods, rushing off with his gun in his hands as Javier follows at a slower pace. 

''What about John?'' Arthur asks. 

''What about him?''

''What next?''

''Next? Well I just... I need some time I-I just need some time...'' he leans against the car with Arthur, facing the opposite direction. Micah shifts his weight behind the older man as he contemplates taking them all back through Arizona to get to New Mexico. ''I, I just... I need someone to buy me some goddamn  _time,_ one of you!''

His hand connects with the back of the truck. 

''You'll figure it out, boss,'' Micah says. ''You always do...''

''What about John?'' Arthur asks the obvious question again. 

''What about him?''

''He's in jail. And Abigail will try breakin' 'im out herself if we don't do something.''

''W-w-we'll get him.'' Dutch promises. ''Just not yet.''

''There's talk of his trial comin' soon.''

''It's not gonna come to that.'' Dutch pushes off of the truck, walking back towards the bullet-riddled home. 

''Dutch?''

''Not now I-I-I need to think...''

Arthur wheezes as he watches Micah obediently follow Dutch into the home like a dog. 


	33. Money Lending

He had been planning on following the rest of the gang through the States to New Mexico, but while out riding in Sacramento he had to slow down, stopping the motorcycle and pushing the kickstand down. One moment he was coughing harshly at the side of the road and the next he was in hospital scrubs in some machine, barely conscious and fighting to stay awake. 

Arthur sits up quickly in the hospital bed when he wakes, feeling his lungs stinging before he begins hacking and coughing, covering his mouth as the the heart monitor beside him spikes in his fear. 

A doctor comes in, helping Arthur sit back before his hands slide off of him. 

''Sir? Can you tell me your name?''

''How did I get here?'' he groans, wiping spit from the side of his mouth. 

''An ambulance got you after you were found passed out in the street.'' the doctor explains. Arthur hates the chemical smell around him. It's too strong and it hurts his nose and lungs, but he begins to think that the chest pain might be result of something else. ''We ran some tests because you weren't waking up very well and... well... how good is your insurance?''

Arthur glares at him, lowering his hand from his mouth.

'' _Why?_ ''

''You have a tumor. In your lungs. Your left lung specifically and I believe its already affecting the lymph nodes around it.''

''Cancer...?'' he asks quietly, eyes widening some as the hear monitor quickens beside him again. 

The doctor's face falls and he nods. 

''I'm very sorry. It's a hell of a thing. Do you have any idea how it might have been caused? Smoking, second-hand smoke? Perhaps through your blood?''

Arthur thinks back to how he practically chain-smoked his way through high school and it only grew worse once he graduated. When he met Dutch and Hosea, they filled rooms with cigarette smoke together. He didn't even know what kind of health risks his father's side carried aside from anger and drinking issues along with a sorry, small heart. His mother though... he remembered saying goodbye to her on her death bed as she passed from breast cancer when he was only nineteen.

''My mom had...'' he reaches for the locket that should have been sitting around his neck as the doctor begins blabbering on about treatments and possible roads he could take to help himself, offering medication. 

He changes into his clothing and clips the locket around his neck, staring at himself in the mirror of the bathroom as he closes his hand around the silver lock and flicks the light off. 

-

Arthur doesn't tell anyone about his ordeal in the city. Instead, they drive from California to New Mexico the next day, making multiple stops on the way with Lenny driving the gang truck back with Molly in the passenger's seat beside him. 

It's a sixteen hour ride to Magdalena where Grimshaw and the others greet them with open arms as their formation of motorcycles drive through the thinner, less secure gates compared to the original clubhouse's. 

They quietly step off and the lower level members carry the items inside the new building for organization as Sean, Strauss, Trelawny and the girls stand in the parking lot with Jack gripping his mother's hand. 

Miss Grimshaw watches Molly enter the clubhouse out the corner of her eye, the group outside searching for members that obviously weren't there. 

''Where's Uncle Hosea?'' Jack can be heard. 

It's an innocent question, but it hurts every heart that had to hear it. 

Dutch is silent beside his motorcycle, lifting his chin as Miss Grimshaw approaches the group and helps him with his bag, merely taking his arm gently and leading him to the doors of the new clubhouse for him to settle in. 

Bill begins wheeling the bikes to the space becoming the new garage with the younger men's help, Arthur lowering his eyes to his own motorcycle as Abigail lets go of her son's hand to approach he and Sadie. 

''Where's John?'' she asks, looking at them both desperately. ''Did he-''

''No.'' they both answer, Arthur lifting his eyes to Sadie and allowing the woman to continue. 

''He's been arrested, but he's alive-'' Abigail gasps and Sadie gently lays her hand on her shoulder, gripping it. ''I'm already plannin' on gettin' him back, Abigail, you don't have to worry yourself 'bout it.''

She leads her away, Arthur left to stand in the parking lot alone as the rest busy themselves with things to do around the new clubhouse grounds. The world feels unfamiliar, and darker here. This State, it didn't want them much less than the rest of the country as a whole wanted them. 

But here they were, miles away from what they knew, miles away from saving John, and miles away from giving Hosea the proper burial he deserved. 

-

It's been four days since they got back from California, and the gang was just now starting to get used to their new homes and new grounds. Most business deals had been struck in New Mexico so it wasn't difficult for them to get right back to it. Some fresh faces showed themselves at Bill's garage when they made themselves known and now it was becoming their turf. 

The Van Der Linde's were slowly but surely branching out again, but Arthur began to wear his jacket less and less.

He knocks on the new office door as Dutch mutters something, the floor plan flipped compared to the original clubhouse but it wasn't built for familiarity; it was built for their survival. It takes Dutch too long to lift his eyes and allow that flicker of recognize to show before he greets Arthur quietly. 

''You okay there?'' Arthur asks, standing in the doorway until Dutch motions him inside. He shuts the door behind himself. 

''Workin' it all out. Once and for all, Arthur.''

He hums, closing the gap between he and the chairs opposite Dutch's wide mahogany desk. 

''What now?'' he asks, gripping the backs of the leather chairs and leaning forward against them. 

''We're back! And I'm sittin' here and I am contemplating the great journey of the sun and considering a famous chess move.'' he waves his hands about, furrowed brows lifting to Arthur's face as he points to the window to his right. ''Those oily enactors of a mediocre justice the federal agents and their benefactor, the depressing millionaire Leviticus Cornwall, they  _want_  us, Arthur! They want us! And they are going to  _have_  us!''

The younger man only nods along, lifting his palm. 

''Well maybe they ain't the problem.''

''Meanin'?''

''I dunno it's just...'' he lowers his hand again before standing straight in front of Dutch, moving around the chairs. ''I can't help but feel we would've been better runnin' off somewhere else, or just stayin' low way back when we should've after Las Vegas, sure as hell not tryin' to rob that thing back in Sin City-''

''Oh ho, but the  _game_  is not over, Arthur! I mean I ain't, I ain't played my, my final move but...''

''I guess I'm more interested in savin' lives than...'' he waves his hand lightly towards Dutch. ''Winnin' at chess.''

''The maybe life ain't such a thing to cling on to so tightly.'' 

''No doubt. What about the women?''

Dutch drops his hands in his lap, rage and any other emotion that had been in his face vanishing as his head sits back. 

''You sound like Hosea...'' Arthur feels a part of his heart break as the muscle's in Dutch's face pull back momentarily in distraught as he breathes in heavily. ''I miss...  _him_.''

Arthur stays still beside the corner of the desk, watching Dutch's eyes wander to the ceiling above him. Did Dutch not know that he missed Hosea too? Was Dutch not aware that he, Arthur, and Miss Grimshaw as well as the rest of his gang was there to listen to him if he needed to talk? 

Was Dutch even in there?

''Dutch...'' he swallows the burn in his throat. ''Dutch you know we all miss him too. He was like a father to us as much he was your brother.''

The older man shuts his eyes and lifts his hand as if he was about to say something before letting it drop like a stone onto the surface of the table. His fingers curl and his nails scrape across the paper as his eyes clench shut and his throat bobs, knuckles going white. 

''I know...'' he answers in a hoarse whisper. ''I should have listened to him.''

''You listened to him before that bank job-''

''Then he should have listened to me for once!'' Dutch shouts, eyes flying open and tears sliding down his face into his black stubble. ''For once he should have stopped bein' difficult and listened to me!''

Arthur steels himself at the corner of the table as Dutch's eyes move over his face quickly in search of something before he breathes in again to speak. 

''He was the closest person in my life for more than  _twenty years_ , Arthur. He nagged me every goddamn day, too. We brought you along and it was more and more, and we were building something together-a community, a  _family_. A real fucked up family, but a family still. I wouldn't be alive if Hosea wasn't with me and Hosea would be alive if he never met me.''

''No, that's-''

''You know its the truth!''

''Hosea would have happily taken a bullet in your place!'' Arthur finally raises his voice to the older man, ripping something in the back of his throat as Dutch shuts his own mouth. ''Since the day he met you that man gave everythin' he had because he knew you were powerful. He knew he would follow you to the ends of the Earth, to the end of the goddamn line, no matter if you or him went first he was goin'. You died, he'd be followin'. I watched that man give pieces of himself to you so you could carry on and there was never a moment where you two didn't trust each other and you didn't know the other was at your side because it was like a sixth sense. Hosea... You gave him, like you gave all of us, you gave him a purpose. For your own sake, Dutch, don't blame yourself for somethin' you couldn't change!''

Dutch's mouth opens as his eyes well with tears, the older man swallowing them back again and lowering his head. Arthur doesn't realize it but he's at Dutch's side in an instant, kneeling beside his chair and pressing their heads together until the older man's slides into his shoulder and his hand grips his shirt. 

A wet spot grows quietly on his shirt but Arthur says nothing, he wraps his arms around Dutch and holds him in place as the older man lets some of his emotions go, properly for the first time since Micah told them that Hosea was dead. Both of Dutch hands come around to Arthur's back where he pulls on the fabric harshly and sobs loudly, muffled by Arthur's neck. 

Arthur allows him to continue, shutting his own eyes and feeling the mutual pain between them both at the idea that Hosea wouldn't ever be with them again, or that they could never hear his laughter, see his smile or listen to him complain about the growing pain in his joints and his muscles. 

His eyelids open as Dutch lets out a mix between a sob and a cry for help, tears falling heavily onto Dutch's jacket shoulder. 

-

Reverend Swanson is having a silent, worrisome discussion with Abigail in the corner of their new compound, holding her hands and watching her with knowing eyes as he nods his head gently and watches her cry. 

Sadie was out chasing after John's whereabouts in attempt to find him and bring him home before his trial could be executed or he could be dragged off to another jail somewhere. Her lead took her to Nevada, hours away and leaving Arthur in New Mexico with an aimless sort of direction and nothing but the uncomfortable silence of the clubhouse to rest on his shoulders. 

Strauss is the one to give him some sense of purpose again, sending him after New Mexico debtors they'd met years and months prior to officially moving to the state. J. John Weathers is the man he's sent after. His whereabouts pinpoint him somewhere between San Antonio and Truth or Consequences. He follows the same stretch of I-25 to get to and from work every day. 

Arthur finds his beat up GMC truck on the side of the freeway, a body under it working with nothing but a tire jack holding it up from crushing him. He pulls the motorcycle up beside the truck and parks it, coming around the side. 

''J. John Weathers?'' he asks. The man wriggles out from under the car and squints up at Arthur as the sun shines back at him, lifting his hand with a wrench between his fingers to shade his eyes. ''You borrowed money off of Leopold Strauss. The bill's come due.''

''This ain't the best time, sir.''

''This ain't the best time for anyone.'' Arthur says, stepping away to begin searching the bed of the truck for valuables or a bag, something he could go through for the money. 

''Mr. Strauss knew it was a long term proposition.''

'' _The debt is due_.''

''Okay,'' Arthur walks back to him, tilting his head just barely. ''I got supplies, in the truck. They were meant to last me to to Mississippi. You can take 'em just, is there any way you can help me? I stay here, there won't be anyone left to pay you.''

''I ain't here to help!'' he shouts, turning his eyes to the younger man who brushes long brown hair away from his face. ''I'm here to collect. We're all-all of us up against it!''

''Look, there's men after me. They're killers. I ain't a deserter, just an objector. It ain't right.'' Arthur scoffs, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he feels his chest strain and his lungs suffer. ''If there was another way than runnin- I  _need_  your help.''

''Shut up.''

''Please... I...''

''He's there!''

He hears the voice before he sees the apparent ball of fire aiming for them both. Arthur grabs the man and they both jump to the side, the molotov landing on the hood of the truck and causing it to burst into flames.

Arthur cover his face, coughing as he scrambles up and grabs for his gun, the dirt-bikes revving off ass blue and red lights followed by sirens scream past in hot pursuit, leaving the burning truck behind. He drops his hand from his belt as Weathers stands, turning and searching for something before shouting towards the road barrier some feet away. 

''It's alright, my darling! You can come out!''

Arthur turns to Weathers as a heavily pregnant woman steps out, cradling her stomach before John hugs her and runs his hand over her face gently. The older man shifts his weight onto his heels and slumps his shoulders as he watches them. 

''I probably shoulda helped you fix your damn truck.'' he says, the Weathers couple raising their eyes to him. 

''We could still salvage something.'' John says. 

''Really now?''

''Look, you can take this necklace,'' a silver band appears from his pocket as he raises it to the biker. ''For the debt.''

He feels the weight of his locket against his chest and exhales, shaking his head. 

''Nah, you... Damn the debt! Just get her somewhere safe.'' Cars were already pulling up beside them, worried drivers wanting to check on the three of them. 

''Thank you, feller.'' Weathers says, wrapping his arms around his partner's shoulders. ''You know, there ain't enough kindness in this world. That's for sure. But you...''

''I don't know nothin' about kindness.'' he answers, leaving the fire behind to swing his leg back over his motorcycle.


	34. Other Sins of Visiting Hours

Arthur tracks the next debtor back to a construction company where he's told the man had died due to bad chemical reaction. He tracks his way to the man's house, pulling up in front of the small apartments and stopping his bike in the red zone. 

He approaches the steps of the apartment where a woman is sitting outside in the breeze, reading a thick book that's placed in her lap as she talks to the partially open doorway.

''Are you packin' all your stuff, angel?'' she asks. 

''I don't wanna go.'' he hears a small voice from inside.

''It'll be an adventure.''

''I don't want an adventure, I want my daddy.''

Arthur clears his throat and causes the woman to stand suddenly, dropping her book to the side. 

''Mrs.Londonderry?'' he asks, coughing.

''Arthur's dead.'' she tells him and he nods. 

''I know and uh... I'm sorry for it-'' a scared looking boy runs to his mother's side and she wraps her arm around his small frame, the biker looking down at the ground. ''-it's just... we lent him some money, you see and-''

''So it was you.'' she speaks calmly, but Arthur can tell that there's hatred in her heart. ''You son of a bitch.'' she pushes her son gently back to the lawn chair she'd been sitting in. ''What do you want now? You want my boy's shoes? You want the food out our bellies? You want me to lie down for you-''

''No!'' he interrupts, raising his hands and coughing once again. ''No I-''

''Arthur gave  _everything_  to pay your bills.  _Everything_. And now we're bein' evicted from the apartment because my job don't pay enough for rent. There ain't nothin' left!''

He hooks his thumbs in his belt and takes a small step back, biting his tongue before he speaks again. 

''I just... wanted to say the debt's cancelled and erm... I'm sorry. For your loss. Here,'' he reaches into the bag on his shoulders and removes a thick stack of cash he still had from hitting Colm's jobs. ''Take this.''

Arthur holds the stack of hundreds up to her and her mouth opens as her eyes widen, her smaller hands taking it from him as she looks at it in bewilderment. 

''It won't bring your husband back, I know. But, you need money and I sure as hell don't.''

''Why...'' she whispers, raising her eyes back to him. ''Why you're a good man. I just wish you done it before he worked his self into the grave. You know, maybe you and your friend who lent him the money could do things differently, like not threaten a man. Excuse me.''

''I'm sorry, ma'am.'' he resembles his scared, young self. ''I really am.''

She steps back to her son and takes his hand before leading him into the apartment, shutting and locking the door after herself. 

The clubhouse grounds are mainly empty when Arthur arrives back, it void of life other than Bill in the garage and Strauss sitting outside in the sun, writing something quickly. He approaches him, boots stomping into the concrete. 

''Hey,'' he mutters, spitting something rising from the back of his throat onto the cement by their feet. 

''Ah,'' Strauss greets him, eyes bright as he looks up towards the taller man. ''How did you get on, Mr.Morgan?''

''Just dandy.'' Strauss nods, looking back at his journal. ''Just... get up.''

The older man raises his head to him, face contorting in confusion.

''I'm sorry?''

He grabs him by the shoulder and pulls Strauss up, shoving him towards the clubhouse. 

''Get up!''

''What-what is wrong?''

Arthur holds him by the back of the shirt, dragging him inside the building. 

''Nothin's wrong.'' he responds, steering Strauss to his office space. ''Nothin' at all.''

''What are you doing?'' Strauss panics, gripping his notebook in his hands as Arthur lets go of him inside the barely decorated office. 

''Somethin' I should have done a long time ago. Get your bag.'' he looks over, seeing Strauss's empty vintage, leather bag and grabbing it. ''This it?''

''I-I-I don't understand-''

''I ain't gonna kill ya.'' Arthur says, throwing random bits of Strauss's belongings inside. ''Though I probably should.'' He clasps it shut and tosses it on top of the boxes Strauss had yet to organize, ripping the notebook from his hands as Uncle and Bill stare from outside the room. ''You disgust me, and shame us! If we can be shamed more than we already are. That should do.'' He throws the notebook against the ground, shoving the boxes into Strauss' arms. ''Go!''

''I don't-don't understand you! What are you doing?'''

Arthur forces the man out of the office, slamming the door behind himself as Uncle and Bill scatter. Sean and Lenny peer at them as well as the biker grabs Strauss again and shoves him out of the clubhouse doors. 

''Go and get... a job!'' he throws him to his car, stumbling and catching himself as Strauss balances the boxes in his arms. 

''You know...'' Strauss steps closer. ''They say the sick delude themselves. I-I was your friend!''

''You and me, we ain't decent.'' Arthur pulls money from his back pocket. ''But those folk, they was. Now here,'' he throws it at Strauss. ''Take that. Take that, and get lost!''

Strauss meekly bends over and scoops the bills up, raising his scared eyes to Arthur once more.

''I'm-''

''Leavin'.'' 

Strauss takes a nervous step back before carrying his boxes and cash to his car. Arthur watches and coughs as he puts the boxes into the trunk and climbs into the driver's seat, driving from the compound quickly. 

-

Arthur lets the painkillers he took kick in before he follows the directions Sadie gave him the rest of the way to Nevada where John was apparently being held under arrest by the state government for his involvement in the Las Vegas robbery. Cops from Nevada, Arizona, and California were each trying to get him to talk on Dutch, Sadie informing him in the same message that some were coming down from Montana because of the bar fight he started and Arthur ended. 

He was being held in Pahrump, Nevada in some sort of house arrest as the officers argued over who got him and who got to keep him for their trial. He was being moved between county jails often as the arguments continued until Sadie had a wonderful idea.

''We steal the uniforms.''

He stares at her, tired eyes low in his leaned back position of the middle-of-nowhere-diner booth. Arthur opens his mouth to speak and she raises her fingers.

''We steal the uniforms and steal the guards.''

''Sadie... honest to God,  what the damn hell are you talkin' 'bout?''

''They move John back and forth all the time,'' she says, running her french toast sticks through the maple syrup she'd poured onto her plate, raising it and causing the syrup to dribble onto the table. ''If we can grab a couple of those guards, get their uniforms and their car, and grab John, we can be out of Nevada before anyone notices he wasn't there on time.''

''Don't they have locators in them cars?''

''Trackers?''

''Yeah.''

''They use GPS to tell who's closest to crime scenes, I think.'' she bites into the end of the french toast stick. ''It could work, Arthur.''

''If it doesn't then we'll end up in jail, or all of us dead.'' she offers him one and Arthur declines. ''What about eyes on it? Like choppers, other cops-''

''They ain't worried about John gettin' free.'' she tells him, handing him the stick anyways and passing the small cup of maple syrup too. ''They're too busy fightin' each other over who get's to drag him off to jail. We could probably dismantle the GPS, too.''

Arthur takes a small bite out of the warm french toast stick, sugar spreading over his tongue and causing his mouth to salivate. 

''Sadie, Dutch ain't got a plan for us to save John. Dutch hasn't even  _thought_  about savin' John. If we get caught, I ain't too sure he's gonna come for any of us.''

''We won't, Arthur.'' she tells him, her eyes hard. ''That's the point.''

He nods, lowering the end of his stick into the maple syrup and watching it run off as she changes the subject.

''You know, we only found out what happened from the news, Molly and I.'' she tells him. ''Then Charles came back, and Lenny. But they didn't say a damn  _thing_  about Hosea gettin' shot back in San Fran.''

''Nothin' covered it?''

''No. They kept talkin' about the big Van Der Linde gang from Arizona that had hit the reserve bank in the city and how you left a bloodbath behind, but they seem to be keepin' John's arrest and Hosea's death quiet. Like they're waitin' to jump and attack.''

''That ain't normal...''

''No, it ain't. I know the feds are after all of us, huntin' us, but I would've thought they would say somethin' about getting two of our own.''

''I would too. Even Colm was gettin' excited about the idea of us bein' arrested and tried by the government.''

''Talking about Colm,'' she takes the maple syrup back from Arthur as he bites into his french toast. ''I been huntin' down O'Driscoll's.''

''Huntin'? Where?''

''In California and Arizona. I thought if we were goin' home then we'd need to clear the pests out.''

''You're gonna get yourself killed!''

''I told you, I ain't afraid of dyin'.''

''Then you'll get the rest of us killed for it.''

''You really think I'll let that happen?''

Arthur laughs, wheezing the noise from his lungs before he coughs and shakes his head. 

-

He sits, uncomfortably, in the driver's seat of the cop cruiser as Sadie begins dismantling the GPS inside. They've stolen the uniforms and the gun belts from the officers, Sadie having duct taped them to the floor of the trunk so they couldn't move and gagged them so no noise would alarm anyone. 

Arthur sits quietly behind the steering wheel as the back door opens and Sadie breaks the GPS, dropping it in the footwell and kicking it under the seat. 

''Alright, here's Marston.'' the officer dropping him off says. ''You know where to take him.''

''We sure do.'' Sadie responds, forcing her voice deeper that makes Arthur roll his eyes from behind his sunglasses. He turns his head and looks into the rear view mirror, John's eyes glancing between them both as he connects the dots in his mind. 

''Be careful. The guy's an asshole but they want him in one piece.''

'' 'Course!'' 

Arthur begins pulling away, both waving goodbye to the officers and the county jail until he pulls onto the road in the direction of John's next jail. Sadie breaks the dash cam camera off and pulls the GPS out from under her seat before shooting at it. It explodes in the foot well and Arthur coughs at the smoke, rolling his window down as the other two begin coughing as well. 

''Arthur? Sadie?" John leans forward, bumping his forehead against the glass keeping the front and back seats separated in his excitement. ''Goddamn!''

Sadie turns in her seat and smiles at him.

''We're gonna take you home.''

''Back to Arizona?''

''Nah,'' Arthur clears his throat. ''New Mexico. Grimshaw took the rest to that place in Magdalena they were lookin' at  _long_  before we ever became a gang.''

They get close to the middle-of-nowhere diner where they had left their bikes and Arthur pulls John out of the backseat, breaking his chains and handcuffs as Sadie disposes of the cruiser. He hands John a bag of fresh clothes and the younger man begins changing.

''Is Abigail safe?'' John asks, pulling his shirt over his head. 

''She's fine. Jack is too. Everyone is back at the clubhouse in Magdalena. They all escaped after they caught wind of what happened.''

''Hosea...'' John seems to suddenly remember, slowing as he pushes the prison pants down. ''That still don't seem real, somehow.'' Sadie reaches them again, having changed into her normal biking gear while Arthur strips himself of the police uniform and changes as well. ''All them years, Arthur... he was like... like family.''

''Yeah,'' he throws Sadie his bag of clothes and she stuffs her own uniform inside. ''We almost lost young Lenny, too.''

''What a goddamn mess... What about... what about the-the money?''

''We still have some of it. The rest we paid off for a boat captain to keep his mouth shut about us hitching a ride on his ship.''

''What? How did that happen?''

''We took a boat to Ecuador.'' he explains, Sadie dropping the bag of clothes when John hands his prison uniform over and lights it on fire as the two men approach the motorcycles. ''Dutch had a great plan for a boat, and it was our only way outta there. I mean, it worked. It's a long story, but... things ain't been good, John.''

Sadie climbs onto her motorcycle and John pulls his shoes on, climbing on after her. 

''You're tellin' me.''

''We're holed up in Magdalena now, hopin' to  _ride it out_ , I guess.''

''The feds have always found us before. No matter where we go.''

''Dutch just might lay low right now.''

''About Dutch... in that bank, when we were gettin' rushed by officers-there was a second there that I was sure he could've done somethin' but... he didn't.''

''And, I should warn you,'' Arthur sits on his bike as John pulls the helmet Sadie hands him on over his head. ''Dutch didn't want us breakin' you out. Said it wasn't the right time so, it might not be the hero's welcome you're expectin'.''

''So much for no man left behind. I can't stop thinkin' about it. In the bank, when they grabbed me, he saw it. He saw it and he did  _nothing_.''

''Dutch ain't himself right now or... he just ain't who we thought he was.''

''Guess we don't need to worry about who's his favorite no more.''

Arthur chuckles. 

''Guess not.''

-

Their arrival to the clubhouse in New Mexico is quiet, their bikes growling as they pull into the compound and park. John steps off of Sadie's bike and thanks her repeatedly before Abigail's voice cuts in and young Jack comes running to his father's side.

John scoops him up and hugs him tightly as Arthur steps off of his own motorcycle, watching Abigail rush to him too and plant a large kiss on his lips until the three hug and hold each other. Uncle comes out to celebrate John's arrival before the clubhouse door opens and Dutch walks out with Micah ghosting over his shoulder still. 

''John!'' he shouts, interrupting the Marston family's reunion. '' _What_  are you doin' here?''

''It's good to see you too, partner.'' he says, setting his son on his feet to run back to MacGuire and Summers who had been playing with him as they healed from their injuries. 

''I meant I hadn't sent for you yet.'' Dutch explains as he stops in front of them, Micah hovering behind him. 

''I went.'' Arthur says from beside the motorbikes, stepping forward as Abigail clings to her lover's arm. 

''But I said that-''

''Yeah, I know what you said.'' Arthur tells him, nodding and raising his eyes to him. ''I felt different.''

Dutch's eyes narrow as the road captain comes to stand between the president and John, raising his chin to him.

''Is that so?''

They both stare unwaveringly. 

''Yes.'' 

''And when springing John brings the law down on all of us, what then,  _Arthur?_ ''

''Well I guess we'll have another fight on our hands.'' he responds as Dutch leans in closer. The older man pulls his head back, dark eyebrows furrowing as he shakes his head. 

''Loyalty, Arthur, it ain't... I had a goddamn  _ **plan!**_ '' his head turns to the Marston's beside him. ''John. John... you are my brother, you are my son...  _I was coming for you_.''

''They-'' John speaks, huffing. ''They was talkin' of givin' me the death penalty, Dutch.''

John's arm keeps Abigail at bay from stomping right up to both Micah and Dutch and smacking them both across the faces. 

''They was talking...'' Dutch says, stepping backwards with Micah in tow, shaking his head of greasy blond hair. ''They was talking! And now they may come and get us all!''

The three of them watch the gang president walk back into the clubhouse, Abigail taking John's arm and leading him towards Jack and his uncle Lenny and Sean as another cough escapes Arthur while he kicks the cement lightly.


	35. Just a Social Call

''You know how Molly hasn't been showin' her Irish face 'round here?'' he can hear Sean talking with Karen in the other room as he shuts his eyes to try and rest. ''Apparently she was the one talkin' to the feds about us the whole time!''

''I don't believe it.'' Karen says. ''She was too nice...''

''Ahha, but that's just what she wanted you to think! I guess she spewed everythin' out to Grimshaw and Dutch while in one of her rants and Grimshaw shot her all the way back across the ocean!''

'' _Sean!_ '' 

''What?''

''Molly O'Shea didn't deserve anythin' like that!'' Karen talks in a low whisper. ''She was just scared.''

''I think... I think we're all scared, baby.'' Sean sounds more like an adult than a twelve year old for once. ''But bein' so scared that you rat everyone you know out to federal agents gunnin' for their heads- there's no way she was  _that_  scared.''

-

Arthur is strolling towards the bundle of buildings where Dutch asked him to meet, rubbing his eyes and yawning as exhaustion pulls at him before someone grabs him and slams into the wall. He smacks at them, turning his head to find Micah spitting and yelling in his face 

''Was you followed?'' Micah says. 

''No!''

''Was you followed?!''

''I said,  _no!_ '' he shoves him off, coughing as Micah laughs and catches himself. ''What the hell is your problem?''

''What is your problem, partner?'' the other man asks as he leans closer, Arthur coughing into the crook of his arm. He sees Micah adjust his coat, bottoms of his belt of grenades showing themselves. ''You don't uh- you don't look so good.''

''What is wrong with you?''

''Nothin' wrong with me! I'm as fit as a fiddle.''

''Not inside you ain't.'' Arthur motions to his head as Dutch heavy boot steps sounds to Arthur's left. 

''I'm just a realist, friend.'' Micah says as he lifts his hands. 

''Micah reckons there's still a rat.'' Dutch says. 

''Oh, does he?'' Arthur asks. ''On what evidence?''

''We's only back a minute, FBI shows up.''

''Come on,'' Arthur laughs. ''You've already killed Molly for it, what makes you think there's more? We've been on the run since you two fools went crazy in Las Vegas! We barely escaped with our lives in San Francisco, and now there's another rat?''

''Well Molly clearly talked,'' Dutch says. ''But who else?''

''Maybe we pushed things too hard.'' Arthur reasons, Micah letting out a bored, snoring noise beside him that makes his blood boil and his head hurt. ''Maybe time for us folks has passed. We don't need a rat! We got sloppier than the town drunk and they know _who_  we are, they know  _where_  we are, and they know what we're doin'.''

''The way I see it,'' Micah leans over Dutch's shoulder, staring at the side profile of the other man's face. ''Is we let the weak go,'' he motions onwards to Arthur. ''Move on, get our money, and start over.'' he pats Dutch's shoulder.

''That ain't happenin'.'' the older man says, angry eyes turning to Micah who steps back with his hands raised. 

''Well somethin's gotta happen.'' Arthur intervenes. ''And fast. Otherwise Cornwall, them feds, they got us pinned in here and ain't none of them stoppin'.''

''Well Cornwall's why we're here.'' Micah says, turning away. ''Shall we, Dutch?''

Dutch nods, stepping back. 

''Yeah,'' the gang president says. ''It's time to go. Let's head on.''

'' _Oh_ ,'' Arthur follows them. ''Leave Cornwall alone... he ain't- look, we got money, we don't need revenge. Now?''

''It's for more money.'' Micah says, stepping into Arthur's face again. 

''Come on, Arthur.'' Dutch tilts his head to him.

''This better not be no stupid revenge mission, Dutch.'' he spits. ''It ain't worth it!''

''Don't be ridiculous.'' Micah tells him. 

''Oh, Arthur,'' Dutch laughs, pressing his hand against the younger man's shoulder. ''It's just a simple social call.'' 

Arthur listens to them laugh together as they stroll away, forced to follow them down the sidewalk and across the road as the intersection forces both ways to stop. 

''What are we gonna say to 'im that  _needs_  to be said?'' he asks. 

'' _He_ has been huntin' us since we took those cars in Arizona.'' Dutch explains. '' _He_  is the reason that Hosea got killed. His business is destroying the small communities in Ecuador. This city, it's  _his_  city. He bought it just to destroy these folks.  _His_  money,  _his_  oil,  _his_  law.''

''These are wrongs that you can't right, Dutch. We're wanted men.''

''Then why'd you go after John against my wishes?'' Dutch asks. 

''I didn't want him killed.''

'' _Neither did I_.''

''We're gonna cut a deal, Morgan.'' Micah chimes in. 

''What are you talkin' about?''

''We want out,'' Dutch says. ''And Cornwall wants us to stop robbin' 'im, and we all know it's  _his_  money that's keeping the bureau on our tail. He's  _America_ , Arthur. I want out. And he... he won't let us go.''

''This ain't makin' a lotta sense, Dutch.'' he says as they grow closer to the polished buildings in front of them with a large fountain leading the paved pathway from the car park. 

''It  _will_ , son. It  _will_. A deal... some noise... and then we're gone.''

He looks to him as Dutch turns his head away, heading directly for the statues beside the fountain that overlook the car pathway. He bites his tongue as they grow closer, Dutch pointing to the back of the bus stop. 

''Cornwall's car is due in soon. Let's get behind these statues.''

A long black car pulls in some time after they get into cover, the door opening and Milton stepping out with Ross leading the way and Cornwall following behind. 

''I want to thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Cornwall.'' Milton says. 

''We are not friends.'' the white haired man says, leaning out of the car and standing slowly. ''I have spent a considerable fortune with the agency, and still, nothing. This Van der Linde robs me, then laughs at me-'' Dutch peers over his shoulder Arthur and smiles. ''-I asked for the best. I  _paid_  for the best.''

''We are very close, Mr.Cornwall, I know you've heard this before-''

Cornwall interrupts him to give orders to one of his men, the man nodding and agreeing before rushing off until the round man turns back to Milton. 

''Sorry, no, I  _have_  heard it all before.''

''We are doing all we can within the confines of the law.'' Milton says as Ross nods his head beside him. 

''The law?'' Cornwall laughs. ''I think we both know what you can do with your  _laws_. Find me Dutch van der Linde! Bring him here and leave the laws to them as need them! Good day sir!''

Milton and Ross turn away from the harsh statements and follow the sidewalk away as Dutch continues grinning from behind his statue with the two other men waiting for his call. The gang leader motions for Micah to follow one of Cornwall's guards carrying a case of some sort, leaving the final two where they were as Cornwall begins blabbering on to someone else his complaints.

''It is a business that will bring down plagues on both our houses, sir!'' Cornwall states. 

Arthur raises his head as Dutch steps out of cover, yelling for Cornwall's attention. 

''Perhaps there is a plague on your house already, Mr. Cornwall.'' the younger man stares at him, Dutch motioning that he had this. 

''What do you want, sir?'' 

''I'm not quite sure, just yet.''

''Your impudence will be your undoing, sir.''

''I'm undone already.'' Dutch says as Arthur comes to his side, gesturing to the younger man. ''Even my best friend here, he thinks I'm crazy... and like this poor fellow you are talkin' to, my feelings are hurt.''

''You robbed me, sir.''

''And you robbed him. Funny world.''

''You show a criminal's grasp of sophistry, sir.'' Leviticus states as more guards begin to mill around his car. ''I did no such thing.''

''You kill, I kill... you rob, I rob...'' Leviticus begins stepping closer, glancing nervously to his guards. ''The only difference I can see is that I choose whom I kill, and whom I rob and you destroy everything in your path.''

''I've heard just about enough.''

''I'll tell you what,'' Dutch steps closer. ''You give me this car, a couple hundred thousand dollars, and safe passage out of here and I'll let you live.''

Leviticus begins laughing, looking to his men as they back him up with their own forced laughter too. 

''I'll do no such thing!'' he turns back to Dutch. 

''You sure?'' he asks. ''Good... I prefer it this way.''

Arthur grabs for his gun as Dutch shoots Cornwall in the head, spraying thin white hair and blood over the guards behind him as he dives for cover. They shoot and kill the men around the limousine as Arthur yells at Dutch. 

''You've lost your mind!''

''Noise, Arthur! Noise!''

They stand and jog away, Dutch slowing as feds arrive. 

''Shit, its the agents!''

''What the hell have you done?'' he asks and fires, Dutch aiding in killing their way to escape before they run down the same path Micah took. 

''Come on!'' he shouts. ''Micah was chasin' after some of Cornwall's papers! Let's find him and get out of here!''

The agents shoot at them as civilians scream and run for cover as the bikers run for the stairs, Micah bursting out the top door to wave some papers around in his hand. It pulls his jacket up, revealing his belt of grenades again.

''I found somethin' interestin' but there's feds everywhere!'' he tells them as they arrive. ''Follow me, and stay close.''

''We had enough heat on us before-'' Arthur says as they move further inside the building, blood spraying onto his cheek. ''-now we're gonna be torched!''

''It was the only way!'' Dutch shouts. ''You'll see! Trust me!''

''Trust you?!''

''You sure you got the lungs for this, Morgan?'' Micah shouts distantly over the gunfire as they repeatedly shoot their way to the small chance of freedom. 

'' _Shut the hell up!_ '' he answers as more feds come down the steps to them. 

They push up the stairs, the two younger men leading the gang president to freedom. 

''Finally put that old bastard Cornwall out of business for good!'' Micah yells. 

''Did you put Dutch up to this?'' Arthur asks, feeling his chest strain again as they go up the steps two at a time, pushed by adrenaline. 

''Me? I just follow orders, Morgan!''

''Let's go! Let's go!'' Dutch orders them from behind. 

''You said this wasn't a revenge mission!'' Arthur says as they shove wide doors open back out into the sunlight. 

''It wasn't.'' the older man answers. ''We got what we came for. Those papers!''

One of Arthur's bullets hits a gas cap and the car explodes, throwing various detectives around and forcing their eyes to land on a lifted truck with its back lights still on and engine humming. Arthur jumps into the driver's seat, grabbing his seatbelt as Dutch clambers in on the passenger's side. He drives off while Micah struggles to fit himself in the back seat, slamming the door behind himself and laughing. 

''Well, at least we tried talkin' it out.''

''You boys have lost your minds.'' Arthur says as he steers them away from the chaos, leaning forward in the driver's seat. 

''Oh, I have felt a lot of guilt in this life, Arthur.'' Dutch informs him, pulling the empty magazine's from his pistols. ''I've killed too often, and poorly, but not this time, son.''

The heavy stream of federal agents barely lets up even as Arthur pushes the truck into the hills, the chase finally giving out after shared gunfire from Micah's gun and the detective's ends with Arthur steering them through rocky mountains. 

''We all okay?'' Dutch asks as Arthur propels the truck down to the town he could see in the distance. 

''Interestin' social call.'' he says as he grips the steering wheel.

''Oh, don't play dumb and superior at the same time, Morgan.'' Micah speaks from the back seat. ''We all knew, sooner or later that Cornwall had to go.''

''Let me see them papers.'' Dutch shifts in his seat and reaches into the back as Arthur continues talking. 

''It's more attention we don't need. It feels like the whole worlds closin' in on us. Dutch... it won't be long before they find where we're hidin' out now. Especially as we ain't exactly  _hidin' out_.''

''We just need a distraction.'' Dutch says as he pulls the papers from Micah and bounces over a large rock that Arthur hits in the road. ''Buy us some time. It looks like Mr. Cornwalls company has signed a contract with the army to ship supplies to and from foreign countries for our brave soldiers. And they're also moving weapons from, well, California to the Mexican border for re-sell.'' he runs his dark eyes back over the papers again before he speaks breathlessly. ''And there's bonds at his oil factory. Maybe there's a way to get 'em off our back  _and_  get the money we need.''

Arthur glances to the papers in Dutch's hands as he slows at the entrance onto the main road. 

''Micah, go check out this dynamite. Take Bill, I guess. We are gonna need a lot of it. And Micah, we need to to talk. Figure out some things.''

'' 'Course, boss.''

''Figure out what?'' Arthur asks, making his presence known again to the two men sitting with him in the truck. 

The other two share a moment of silence before they both look at Arthur. 

''The plan.'' Dutch says. ''Gettin' outta here. Nothin's changed-''

''It hasn't, huh?''

''There's an old house West of South Valley. Meet me there when you can, black lung.''

He steels himself in his seat as the others continue around him like he didn't exist. 


	36. A Rage Unleashed

Arthur coughs, moving something in his chest as he approaches Swanson who sits outside in the sunlight with his coat pulled around his shoulders as he clings to a book in his hands. 

''Reverend,'' he greets, 

The older man lifts his eyes to Arthur, his fingers pressing against the page to remind him where his sentence left off. 

''Are you okay, Mr.Morgan?'' he asks him. 

Arthur laughs lightly, shaking his head as the older man stands. 

''I don't know, Reverend.''

''These are challengin' times... for all of us.''

''Yes... very challengin'.''

''You don't seem yourself, somehow...'' the Reverend keeps his arm wrapped around himself. ''I've always felt... I left the drugs and alcohol, sir-''

''Arthur!'' he sees the focus in the Reverend's eyes break as they both glance to Dutch. ''Would you excuse us, Reverend?''

''Of course...''

Arthur pats his arm and moves away to follow Dutch towards the mainly empty garage in their compound. 

''New York.'' Dutch says as they seat themselves inside. ''We are gonna go to New York. Now they have been chasin' us south, east and west-now we're gonna get on a plane and go north!''

''New York?''

''Then Tahiti, the Fiji Islands, or New Guinea. Dancin' girls, freedom-but first we have to make a whole lotta smoke, a whole lotta commotion. And then we disappear.''

''We need commotion?''

''One score, and a whole hell of a lot of noise.''

The younger man shakes his head. 

''We ain't so good at doin' scores anymore, Dutch.''

Dutch stares at him, Arthur watching his pupils from behind the older man's red sunglasses as he leans forward on his thigh. 

''Are you feelin' alright, Arthur?'' he asks calmly as an engine pulls into the clubhouse grounds. 

''Sure, I'm fine-''

''Pardon me for interrupting.'' Charles' voice breaks the concentration between the two men, Eagle Flies and Charles walking with Javier and Karen escorting them with their guns in their hands. Arthur and Dutch stand, the younger of the two shaking hands with Eagle Flies. 

''Hello.'' he says.

''Hello.'' the young man responds. 

''Dutch,'' he turns to the gang president, slowly letting go of the other man's hand. ''This is Eagle Flies. His father is a great chief. Charles and I- we erm...''

''They helped me greatly.'' the young man says. 

Dutch stares for a moment before waving Javier and Karen off, offering his hand. 

''Dutch van der Linde. How do you do?''

''Not well, sir.'' he answers truthfully as they grip each other's hands. 

''Well I am sorry to hear that.''

''How's your father?'' Arthur asks him. 

''Father has confused wisdom with weakness.'' Eagle Flies tells him, glancing between both men with Charles at his shoulder. ''His people, my people... we've suffered too much, been lied to too much. Now they've taken some of our horses from us.''

''Who?'' Dutch questions.

''The infantry division located at the further into the desert.'' Charles answers. 

''Why?''

''Colonel Favors is a liar and a murderer.'' Eagle Flies spits. ''His people won't stop until we are all dead. Without horses we cannot shepherd our animals, without shepherding there is no income, and without income we would have no food or clean water. This is another act of war!''

Dutch nods, eyes focused. 

''I see that.''

Eagle Flies raises a piece of paper to the oldest man, gripping the envelope in his hands. 

''Your men have helped me before.'' he says. ''And I have money.''

''Put your money away, son.'' Dutch tells him, turning his gaze to the man at his shoulder. ''What do you think, Charles?''

''You know I told your father I will not fight over some horses.'' Charles reminds Eagle Flies. Arthur shifts his weight to his left foot and presses his hand on his hips as Dutch tilts his head towards the two youngest men. 

''But  _I_  made no such promise.''  Arthur lifts his eyes suddenly to Dutch, piecing it together in his mind as he raises his hand to speak. ''Come along.''

Eagle Flies smiles and clasps Charles over his shoulder before following Dutch to the truck. 

''Arthur we must go with them.'' Charles says. ''To stop things from getting out of hand.''

The older man lets out an exasperated sigh, feeling his lungs strain and release the air. 

''I guess...'' he hits his arm lightly. ''Come along...''

They approach the truck together as Dutch and Eagle Flies climb in.

''We can get them more horses...'' Arthur states quietly. 

''I know.'' Charles responds. ''I understand that Eagle Flies is angry but I don't see how this will help anything.''

''Especially not with Dutch whippin' him into a frenzy. We got enough folks comin' after us without addin' the _army_  to the list.''

''You gonna let these bastards walk over you?'' Dutch is asking Eagle Flies when Arthur and Charles open the truck doors to climb in. ''No! You're not! This is all that's wrong with the world.''

Eagle Flies starts the truck and drives them from the compound, explaining the situation. 

''The horses are in a truck near Ramah. I have extra men waiting there if we need them.''

''Surely this can be done  _without_  killing anyone.'' Charles says at Arthur's side

''Of course!'' Dutch announces cheerily from the front seat. ''What will be, will be. Anyways son, tell me about this Colonel Favors.''

''He's a vile man. He and his regiment take pleasure in persecuting us. Many young have been taken from our reservations with the argument that they needed disciplining, sent off to boarding schools. Many women, too. We are becoming weak and sick, but they are deliberately withholding medications and vaccines from us, shipping it from the urgent cares and hospitals to the next states and towns instead, forcing us to drive hours simply for our medicines.''

''This ends today.'' Dutch promises. ''You have my word on that.''

''Why are you gettin' involved in this, Dutch?'' Arthur asks him, gripping the handle above the door. 

''You know me... we shoot fellers as need shootin, save fellers as need savin', and feed them as need feedin'.''

''Not this again, it's been quite a while since we helped anyone but ourselves, and even you know that.''

''I told you, we need  _noise_ , Arthur.  _Noise_  and faith.''

''I still don't know what that means.''

''Stop questionin' and think. Just  _think_  for a  _second_. The bureau has had time to reinforce, and they're tryin' to close in on us, as is the rest of the world. Who knows what else  _Molly_  told them. We need to move towards a conclusion.  _Now_.''

''Sure. But what's this-'' he gestures to Eagle Flies. ''-got to do with any of  _that?_ ''

Dutch shifts and leans over to Arthur, tapping his shoulder. 

''Some good honest conflict between the army and the Indians might be  _just_  the distraction we need. Kill two birds with one stone. Cornwall was funding the bureau's assault on us. Why do you think I dealt with him? With Cornwall gone, the government is  _far_  more likely to divert them to other issues, especially if there's one more scandal. And then we can slip away.''

He sits back in his seat, Arthur still pressed against the back of the driver's chair. 

''Like I said,'' he continues. ''We just need that noise, and one more score. You know I went back for that safe, hidden outside the mansion in San Francisco... and we're close, Arthur.  _Real_  close. The dynamite, the railway contract, they're all in those papers Micah found. I  _have_  a plan, Arthur. You just  _have_  to trust me.''

Arthur sits back all the way in his seat, the back of his skull hitting the head rest as he drops his hands in his lap. 

Eagle Flies points out the window as they pull up on the sandy ground, his finger aimed at a man crouched beside bikes with binoculars lowering from his eyes. 

''There's Paytah.'' he says. Eagle Flies parks the truck and they each file out, the young man approaching his friend and gesturing to the bikers who were shutting their truck doors. ''These men, like I said, they'll help us.''

Paytah points to the dirt bikes as they approach, Dutch leading the other two.

''I got the bikes,'' he says. ''The truck is still parked at the rest stop.''

''Good,'' Eagle Flies says, Dutch and the others looking past the cliff face towards the rest stop below. ''Let's wait until night fall.''

They take turns on watch throughout the day as the sun slowly dips below the horizon and the moon takes its place in the sky. The stars show themselves and the headlights of the truck flicker on, slowly pulling away from the rest stop.

Paytah whistles for their attention and points to down below, forcing the others to stand and get on the dirt-bikes arranged for them. They follow each other in a line behind the truck, slowly growing closer. Charles pulls the dirt-bike with he and Arthur perched on to the side, Arthur raising his hand and sticking his fingers through the gap in the side. He reaches out and hooks his foot on the metal step before hooking his other hand in the same gap and stepping off of the bike at fifty miles an hour down the freeway. 

The wind rushes around his head and short cut hair, Arthur clinging to the side of the truck desperately as Charles falls back and Dutch rides around in front of the truck, forcing it to slow down. He hears the truck honk before it stops completely, Arthur wriggling around to the back doors to peer inside at the horses. 

Charles jogs to the back doors. 

''How many are they missin'?'' Arthur whispers. 

''Five or six.'' Charles answers, peering around the side of the truck as Arthur counts before nodding. 

''Alright, we got that much, just about. What's Dutch doin' up there?''

''Talking.'' 

Arthur drops off the back of the truck and watches as the driver leans out the window and continues talking to Dutch about the faulty engine of his dirt-bike. Paytah sneaks up to the window and knocks the driver out, pulling him from the truck and dragging him to the ditch in the side of the road. 

Dutch uses the steps and the handle on the side to climb into the seat, slamming the door shut and revving the trucks engine.

''Where we takin' this?'' Dutch asks. 

''Paytah and I will handle it.'' Eagle Flies tells him. 

Charles hits Arthur's shoulder and the older man turns around, seeing headlights approaching. 

''We gotta go!'' he shouts, hitting the back. Dutch lurches the truck away and begins driving, Arthur grabbing his dirt-bike and riding away with the others back to their overlook as the headlights of military vehicles thunder down the road. 

''Are you sure he will fine?'' Eagle Flies asks. 

''Sure,'' Arthur responds. ''Just give him a rendezvous point.''

''Tell him to go to Fence Lake. We will meet him there.''

Dutch arrives some time after the rest of them, stopping the truck beside them and excusing his late arrival as he hops out. 

''It seems like Uncle Sam hates you boys more than us.'' he says, shutting the truck door. 

''So it goes...'' Eagle Flies and Charles check the horses in the back. ''My father doesn't want to fight again. He sees no purpose in protests and riots any longer. Will one of you help us return the horses to our reservations?''

Arthur hacks and coughs, turning away. 

''Well Arthur will-'' Dutch turns, Arthur breathing in harshly as Dutch lowers his arms. ''Aww... well Arthur needs to rest. I will, I like you, son.''

Arthur looks to Charles as Smith comes to his side, glaring back at the older man as he and Eagle Flies grip the handles of the doors. 

''And after the horses are we gonna wait for the army to come and wreak its revenge?''

''I hope not.''

''Of course we ain't!'' Arthur reaches out to Dutch in attempt to calm him and Eagle Flies. ''Now let's go check out that fort of theirs.''

''Is this a good idea?'' he interrupts.

''This is the only idea, and it is one that will suit both of our purposes.''

Arthur comes up to the driver's side window and clambers up the side of the truck, leaning in. 

''Fightin' the army ain't wise.''

''Stop worryin'.'' Dutch orders, turning the key in the ignition. ''Oh, and Sadie was talkin' to me about Colm- meet me at Abo when you have the chance. Shall we go, son?''

''Certainly.'' Eagle Flies responds. 

''We'll start some light reconnaissance at the fort and when Colm's dealt with you meet us there. We'll set up a good spot for you.''

''I don't know, Dutch...'' Arthur says, his head still inside the open window. 

''Yeah, well I do!'' the other shouts, Arthur leaning back. ''This is exactly the distraction that we need-''

Charles runs around to Eagle Flies door, gripping his wrist through the open window. 

''Your father said that fighting was an impossible gamble.'' he warns the younger man, Dutch and Arthur both looking to them. ''There's no winning for you in this.''

Eagle Flies pulls his wrist away quickly. 

''Father need not know anything. He'd rather live in ignorance.''

Charles drops off of the side of the truck in response, Arthur lowering himself back onto the dirt himself as Dutch pulls the truck from park and begins to wheel away. 

''Your father would prefer that you did nothing so foolish!'' Charles tells him, the truck pulling away with Paytah in pursuit on his dirt bike. ''I said I would stop this from happening... would you talk to him?''

''Speak with Rains Fall?'' Arthur asks. 

''Yes. Would you?''

''Sure.'' he nods and Charles lets out a sigh of relief, tension leaving his body as his shoulders slump. ''I'll speak with 'im. You head on back to the clubhouse, check on the others. Dutch's behavior its...''

He breathes in heavily and shakes his head, Charles nodding.

''I understand. Thank you, Arthur.''

The older man watches Charles swing his leg over the side of the dirt bike before riding away into the dark. 


	37. Archaeology for Beginners

Arthur arrives at the clubhouse to grab some more painkillers, his chest giving him a hell of a time as he passes the small sitting room where Karen and Sean are holding each other inside. He slows to a stop and looks at them, ignoring the ache in his chest as he notices Sean is sleeping in her arms and she's simply stroking his hair.

''You okay?'' he asks quietly.

Karen raises her eyes to him and nods. 

''His stomach's been hurtin' some, and we're... scared.''

''It's normal to be scared.'' he tells her. 

''Sean was talkin' about runnin', Arthur!''

He comes to crouch in front of them both, a wheezing breath leaving his chest as he looks to Sean's sleeping his face. 

''Sean's been through hell and back,'' he tells her. ''And this... this gang... I'd recommend goin' when you see you had the space to. Take Lenny with ya. He don't deserve seein' this place die.''

Karen stares at him as he stands, leaving to find the painkiller's he'd been after. 

Arthur finds the sitting room empty when he comes back, Sean, Lenny, and Karen's things each gone from the clubhouse as if they never existed. A bottle of whisky with a note simply stating 'thank you' sits on the seat of Arthur's bike when he heads outside, recognizing Karen's handwriting.

-

The black motorcycle slows in front of Rains Fall's home, a wooden structure with fencing surrounding it. Arthur removes his helmet as he approaches the chief, finding him sitting in front of a campfire with other men as their eyes lift to the biker, the smoke effecting Arthur and causing him to cough. 

''You don't sound very well.'' Rains Fall says, raising his head to Arthur below the gray clouds in the sky. He covers his mouth with his fist, trying to avoid coughing anything onto anyone around him. 

''I'm not, I'm-'' he clears his throat, lowering his hand from his lips. ''I think I'm dyin'.''

''Then I hope you find peace.''

''I don't know too much about peace.''

''Apparently not.'' Rains Fall says as he pushes himself to stand, wood logs cracking in the fire in front of him. ''Did you have fun with my son, the impetuous Prince? I believe you went on a raid with him.''

Arthur steps back out of the way as Rains Fall approaches one of the younger generations with a wet rag in his hands, wetting their forehead.

''I'm sorry...''

''I suppose I lack the grandeur of a conventional king?''

''I don't know too many kings,'' Arthur tells him, watching as the great chief walks back to the fire and uses a bottle of water to wet the rag once more. 

''Colonel Favors,'' Rains Fall sets the bottle down. ''He as already exacted some measure of revenge for the raid; two women were assaulted by his men when they came to our reservation.''

''I'm... very sorry about all of this.'' he says as he scratches his nose. 

''Yes, sometimes the correct path, the bravest path is the least obvious, and also the gentlest. I'm... I'm a great disappointment to my son.''

''Your son seems to want a war.''

Rains Fall looks to the biker with the helmet under his arm and sunglasses gripped in his other hand. 

''My son thinks there is glory in death.'' he gives a solemn nod. ''Maybe he's right. But for me... I saw death being handed out so freely by the most foolish of men-I never could equate it with victory. Glory has come in service... maybe. Maybe not, I don't know.''

''I've killed a lot of people.'' Arthur admits to him. ''For a whole lotta dumb reasons and I ain't ever seen much glory in it.''

Rains Fall sighs, moving to help the other sick men gathered around the camp fire as he continues speaking. 

''Your friend, Mr. Van der Linde, he talks a lot. I don't know him, but my son is easily led.''

''I'm not sure I get you.''

''Well, perhaps we could go for a ride. Do you know how to ride horses?''

''I remember some things.''

''Good,'' the chief nods, walking from the campfire with Arthur in tow. ''I am an old man. My whole life I have tried to bring peace.''

''But uh-'' Arthur sets his helmet and sunglasses down on the seat of his motorcycle to follow the older man towards the horses. ''-I ain't doin' so good...''

''Then maybe you can take pity on my plight. Please, it won't take long.''

He sucks in a breath to respond and erupts in coughing instead, feeling Rains Fall's eyes on him as he reaches for the rusted fence of the horse stables and grips it to balance himself and allow the fit to pass. 

''And maybe I can help you with that cough.''

''Sir!'' Arthur lifts his head, watching a man in slacks and a button up approach the two of them with an air of worry about him. ''I'm glad I caught you, sir!''

''Captain Monroe,'' Rains Fall gestures to Arthur. ''Do you know my friend, Mr. Morgan?''

''No, sir, I don't have the pleasure.''

''Arthur Morgan.'' the biker grounds out.

''It's an honor, sir.''

''How can I help you, captain?'' the chief asks. 

''I was just in San Francisco, with the mayor. It's not good news, I'm afraid.'' Rains Fall doesn't seem surprised by that fact. ''May I ride with you for a little?''

''Of course.'' the oldest man says and nods, bringing horses from the stables and having the younger two saddle them before they begin their ride together. 

''Where're we goin'?'' Arthur asks. 

''I want to show you a site up in the mountains that has long been sacred to me,'' Rains Fall says as he begins leading the two younger men away from his home and the campfire. ''A place for reflection and healing. What is this news, Captain Monroe?''

''Yes sir. As I mentioned, I did speak again with the mayor and the bureau of Indian affairs in San Francisco at length, but regrettably it seems that the oil company has already received the go-ahead to continue with the building plans across the reservation's land.''

Arthur allows Monroe to ride in front of him to better speak with the chief.

''I supposed as much.'' the oldest man says. ''So, what does that mean for us now?''

''I'm not sure just yet. I was given the impression that nothing would happen for a few months. I'm very sorry, sir. I did everything that I could.''

''I know, captain.''

''And I assure you I will continue to do as much as I can. Mr. Morgan, would you have time to help me at all? I would rather certain actions be taken by friends  _outside_  of the tribe.''

''Sure, I'll have some time.''

''Thank you.'' Monroe sounds relieved. ''Come meet me on the reservation when I have something for you to do. Anything helps. I'm sorry to be... forward, but there's much to be done. Anyway, gentlemen, I won't take up more of your time.''

Monroe pulls aside on the horse, allowing the other two to continue down the pathway together. 

''I'll see you both soon.''

''Thank you, Captain.'' the chief says from in front of Arthur. The biker looks over his shoulder to see Monroe steering the horse back from whence it came as Rains Fall speaks again. ''We'll continue on this way. I'm looking for some herbs to give to you.''

''You don't have to do that.'' Arthur tells him as he turns back, clearing his throat of phlegm and the dry scrape in the very back. 

''I do not, but I feel it is the right thing to do.'' Rains Fall slows in front of him, Arthur following his gaze two the pair of wolves ripping pieces from a deer. ''Do you see those wolves feasting on that deer? Brutality and beauty are both all around us, yet so often we are unable to see past our own grievances. This is what I try to teach my son.''

They continue in silence, passing the wolves and their meal and leaving them to it. 

''We  _can_  talk if you want, Mr. Morgan, but do not feel that you have to. It's a beautiful ride ahead if you need some time to think.''

''Well... we don't know each other too well but... I wanted to speak to you about your son. I was there on the raid to steal back those horses and uh... well, you know somethin' of Dutch, I think?''

''Yes. A little. Mostly from your friend, Charles. He has explained to me who and what Mr. Van der Linde is.'' He steers from the path and drops off of his horse to pick some plants before bringing them back to Arthur, climbing back onto the saddle. 

''I don't know  _why_  Dutch is gettin' involved in your situation and this ain't easy to say, but, I just don't trust that he's got your son's best interests at heart.''

''So what can we do?''

They trot back to the trail. 

''I don't rightly know. Charles and I just thought that you should be aware. Maybe... there's a way to stop things from gettin' too far out of control.''

''Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I will have to give it some thought.''

''You know... I had a son. His mom was too young and I couldn't give 'em everythin'. I wasn't there a lot to bond with him but when I was, we laughed... I got there, to their home, one day and found out that they'd died in an accident on the road. A drunk driver thought he could drive his couple ton truck a further down the road and... well, I spent a long time hardenin' myself while he begged for forgiveness. I ain't sure I properly gave it to him, even after he spent a few years in prison for it.''

''I am sorry, Mr. Morgan. Losing a child is one of the hardest things anyone would have to experience.''

He clears his throat and glides them away from the subject. 

''That feller, Monroe, how do you know 'im?''

''Captain Monroe was re-stationed here from his regiment up north. Apparently, news of our conflict has spread to Washington. He's a good man, he wants to help.''

''That's somethin', at least.''

''The army aren't all bad, just as my people are not all good. But this Colonel Favors walks an old line; he believes we are in the first times of the settlers and the beginning of the end for us. He's obstinate, and he hates Monroe. I just hope between us we can work this out.''

The horses trot on as silence washes over the two men, Arthur turning his eyes to the dry valley below as they continue up a slight incline. He's left with his thoughts for a few minutes, staring at the nature around him before Rains Fall's voice interrupts him to announce that they were nearly there. 

An almost grieving shout leaves the older man's throat and rips Arthur from his own mind, forcing his eyes up to the burned trees and cloth scattered around the ground as Rains Fall drops from his horse and runs towards the carnage left behind. Arthur slides off the saddle, watching as the great chief presses his palms against the sides of his head and stand in the midst of the faint reminder of what had once been there. 

''They destroyed everything!'' the biker's heart strains as he hears the pain in the other's tone. ''No, I need to find the Chanupa... who... who would do this?''

Arthur doesn't have a response for the older man that would help him, he simply moves to help the other find the Chanupa. Instead, he finds bottles of alcohol,  _lots_  of bottles of alcohol, and a pillar of smoke. 

''It's a ceremonial pipe,'' the chief tells him, Arthur waving him over. 

''Over here,'' he says, pointing to the obvious smoke in the air as the older man reaches his side. ''I think I see a camp.''

They watch the guards below, wrestling and drinking, falling onto the dirt together and flailing aimlessly together in a drunken mess.

''Oh...'' Rains Fall sounds. ''There they are... these...  _brave men_... some of Colonel Favors' men. They must have been the ones that did this.''

''Are you surprised this happened?''

''Not at all... but... I had hoped we were past this.''

''You got land they want-land with oil.''

He hears Rains Fall sigh from beside him. 

''They moved us here... they've taken everything we had. I've signed many treaties myself, and they've broken each one!''

Arthur turns to him, eyes still on the camp. 

''I'll go down there and see if I can find the er... Chanupa. You...'' he looks to the burnt remains. ''You take pictures of that. You got a phone?''

The older man nods.

''Good. Document it.''

''Do not hurt them.'' Rains Fall warns. ''We cannot afford any more violence against our people than what we have already caused.''

He steps back and climbs onto the back of the horse, riding down to the camp and hiding the animal in the brush before he maps out the small camp and uses the tents as cover. A group of the officers sit around a long burnt out campfire, chatting as Arthur sneaks in behind them and spots the Chanupa and other items he assumed belonged to the natives. 

Arthur scoops them up and carries them carefully back to the horse before climbing on its back and returning to the chief. Rains Fall is sitting solemnly in the ash, eyes cast to the ground as the biker slides off the saddle and approaches him with the items.

''Here I,'' the older man lifts his head as he presents the Chanupa and other things. ''I got your things, I think.''

Rains Fall's face brightens some as Arthur lays the Chanupa carefully in the older man's hands, grateful eyes running over it. 

''Yes, thank you.''

''I'm sorry,'' Arthur sighs. ''I'm very sorry about all of this.''

''Even sacred things are only things. People,'' he pokes his chest. ''The heart, they matter more. Was anyone hurt?''

''No one was killed.''

''Well done,'' the chief nods. ''Well done. I wish my son knew such restraint. My people owe you a great debt,'' he says reaches for his pocket to pull out a small item made of feather and bone. ''And I am giving you very little. But please, take this. We believe it to be... sacred.''

Arthur's hands carefully take the small item from the great chief, cradling it as he stares before raising his eyes to the king in front of him.

''Thank you,'' he says, unsure what to do with it. 

''Thank you.'' Rains Fall tells him, struggling to stand as Arthur slips the item onto his wrist and takes his arm, helping him onto his feet. ''Take those herbs I gave you, and most of all, I hope you can find peace within yourself.''

Arthur catches the item before it slips off of his wrist and onto the ground, nodding to the older man in front of him. 

Rains Fall walks away with the ceremonial items held tenderly in his arms, the biker approaching the circle of ash and crouching in front of it to get a better look as the breath slides from his lungs and hitches in the back of his throat painfully. 

-

_He's a man who, not so long ago, I would have found weak and pathetic. Now I see as wise and thoughtful and sensible._

_I would love to help him._

_Or at least stop Dutch from pushing his son to do something real stupid._


	38. The Fine Art of Conversation

Monroe asks him to meet just outside of Albuquerque, at a gas station in-between two towns. 

''The chief's been going out trying to find medications.'' Monroe explains. ''It's quite a business...''

''Of course.'' he responds. ''I thought we were through with all this?''

''We are, mostly. Colonel Favors seems to think the natives have broken some promise they never made and apparently he's punishing them by withholding vaccines sent down by the government.''

''Really?''

''Yes. That's why I've asked you here. I was supposed to oversee the administration of vaccines, write reports from the doctor's and urgent cares near the reservations but they never came. Instead, the families have been wrought with health epidemic keeping them from working, getting their educations. One thing can have a massive ripple effect to everyone else, Mr. Morgan. Just one disturbance in the water...''

''Oh, I know.''

''With the truck being diverted, I can't give the reservation what they need.''

''Why would he do such a thing?''

''To be honest, I truly don't know. They say he didn't have a very good war, stationed during Vietnam, so he's might be trying to make up for it by starting one here.''

''Is that what you think?''

''I'm trying to find out,'' he shuffles closer at the gas pumps. ''And he  _knows_  I'm trying to find out. He'd love to provoke me as much as he'd love to provoke the poor bastards suffering because of his incompetence.''

''Meanin'?''

''Meaning despite the fact I think he's a horse's ass, he knows I think that. So we're stuck at the reservations, trying to make the best of things.''

''The best of things is children dyin' of diseases?''

''No. This is awful.''

Monroe leans back, looking over his shoulder as a car drives from the gas station towards the road, Arthur closing the gas cap on his bike. 

''Where's this truck? Where can we find it?''

''I can show you. It's supposed to be heading to the reservation but it's been diverted south instead.''

''Come on, Captain Monroe.''

''M-Mr. Morgan, we  _must_  act with due caution.'' he says, stepping between two gas pumps and stopping Arthur with his hand. 

''Oh we shall, we surely shall.''

Arthur swings his leg over his motorbike and motions for Monroe to get on, riding from the gas station in the direction the other man gave him. 

''I think this spot will be good to intercept it.'' Monroe shouts in his ear over the growling of the engine. 

''This Colonel Favors, he knows you're up here helpin' these people?''

''Yes... and no. He knows I was sent here to write a report on the situation. I was sent down from the North after news of all the unrest in the region. But I think my presence  _might_  be making things worse. ''

''What do you mean?''

''I worry he's taking some of these actions to protect himself now-'' Arthur cuts across the lane and follows the empty stretch onwards. ''-if he can incite more retaliation then maybe he can prove a stronger defense.''

''Like destroyin' that shrine.''

''Yes, and taking their horses. I mean, I can't be sure that he personally sanctioned all of this or not. This is the other problem. There's a culture now in his regiment; the rot has travelled down the trunk.''

''Just show me where to find this truck and I'll get the medication for you. You don't need to be involved.''

''Thank you, Mr. Morgan. But I must ask of you to be more discrete. We can't afford any more useless conflict. I'm still hoping a meeting can be arranged between Colonel Favors and Rains Fall.''

''I understand. So should I drop the truck back at the reservation?''

''God no! No, no, no... you only need to get the vaccines in the back. Stealing those  _and_  an army truck will only make matters  _much_  worse.''

''Okay.''

''You know, Colonel Favors has many flaws, but I don't believe he's callous. More an insecure man at the end of his career trying to cling onto something that's no longer there. He's been in the military for years, but his record shows he's been  _far_  from illustrious.''

Monroe directs him to a position on the side of the road where they could wait, Arthur pulling the motorcycle to a stop on the asphalt. 

''It should be coming up this road in...'' Monroe checks his watch. ''A few minutes.''

''Alright.'' Arthur says, stepping from the motorcycle and crouching beside the wheel to check the spokes, occasionally looking over his shoulder to check the road. 

''You're a good man, Mr. Morgan, but I fear this task to be a fool's errand.''

''Well firstly I'm a long way from a good man, secondly, fool's errands are favorite kind of work.''

''Fair enough. In that case... I can see that we shall be great friends.'' Arthur chuckles, fingers cleaning some dirt from between his tire spokes. ''It's coming.''

He raises his head and stands as the large truck comes towards them, Arthur stepping back from the motorcycle towards the edge of the road as a great billow of wind and dust sweeps over him. Arthur grabs hold of the side of the truck and feels his feet come out from under him, wheezing as he uses both hands to lift himself into the covered back. 

His shoulder slams into the bed and he hisses in pain before sliding forward and checking the cases in the back. He locks them shut once he finds the vaccines and slips them into his bag, peering back out through the bed to see Monroe very worryingly trying to control his motorcycle. 

Arthur takes to diving into the yellow grass on the side of the road, rolling and hoping to any god that was listening that he didn't completely destroy the vaccines. His head is spinning when he catches his balance and rubs his head, hearing the engine of the motorcycle coming to stop in front of him. 

Monroe pulls the handbrake and the back tire rises off the ground, the captain leaning back and forcing the tire to land on the asphalt again before he pushes the kickstand down like he'd seen Arthur do.

The biker hands the boxes over and Monroe checks them, only a few vials being smashed in the process. 

''This is wonderful, Mr. Morgan.'' Monroe announces as Arthur begins coughing and spits what he brought up into the dirt. ''We could both be put in prison for this.''

''Yeah, well, I think I'm a little past carin' about jail, Monroe.''

''Maybe. I just hope Colonel Favors thinks he was robbed by some modern bandits and not-''

''Oh no, I'm still a bandit and a criminal. There ain't no doubt about that.''

''Well, bandit or not, this was a good thing. Even if we get killed, it had to be done.''

Arthur nods, gripping the handle of his motorcycle. 

''I hope so.''

-

The Reverend is singing softly to himself inside the clubhouse as Arthur watches Trelawny fiddle with the handle of his bag, his suit pressed and his hair smoothed. He's tapping the handle nervously, tapping out a rhythm and a pattern as the biker approaches him. 

''Josiah?'' he asks. 

The other lifts his head suddenly, swallowing thickly and avoiding eye contact. 

''I, um, I was, uh...'' he begins, Arthur sitting across from him. 

''Leavin' again?''

''Yes, just leaving... I'll see you soon.'' he promises, raising his eyes and giving a fake, pained smile to Arthur in the quiet clubhouse. Arthur coughs, covering his mouth. 

''Perhaps.''

''What do you mean?''

''Well, if I was you, I'd disappear too.'' The broader man tells him, Josiah's eyes skimming the surface of the table. ''This is all pretty much over. I know you got your family, you told me about 'em when you were drunk a few years back.''

''Haha, well, I'll be back-''

''No you won't. Let's not pretend no more.'' Arthur says, eyes staring. ''Get outta here.''

Josiah hesitates as his mouth opens, reaching for the handle of his suitcase.

''I'll miss you, Arthur. You've been a fine friend to me.''

''Let's not get too over-sentimental.'' he says and stands with Trelawny, checking around them before patting the other man's shoulder and smiling softly. ''Go on. Get outta here, while the place is quiet. You go with my blessin'.''

The brit shuffles from foot to foot, gripping the handles of his bags as he shows a true emotion in his face for once; gratefulness. 

''Thank you, Arthur.''

His eyes quickly turn away once again as he pushes his emotion away from himself, heading for the clubhouse doors to disappear into the sunlight outside. Arthur can no longer hear the Reverend's quiet singing as he sits back down at the table and wheezes another cough from deep within his lungs. 

Charles comes through the garage door, holding it open for another figure to follow him. 

''I found a friend looking for you.'' he announces. 

''Mr. Morgan,'' Arthur stands at the great chief's voice, pressing his palm against the surface of the table. 

''Sir.''

''How are you?''

''A little better.''

''I hope so...''

''How can I help you?''

''I apologize for having to impose on you again but I believe that I have made progress on brokering peace.''

''You have?'' he asks, Charles cleaning the chair Trelawny had been sitting in off for Rains Fall to sit. 

''I believe so.'' he answers as Arthur sits back down.

''Colonel Favors as agreed to a meeting to discuss, and maybe resolve his alleged grievances and mine. Now, he has lied to me more times than I care to remember, but maybe this time... he must want peace. Why could he possibly want to humiliate us further?''

''Oh, we got words for his kind,'' the road captain says as he pushes himself to stand. ''But they're colloquial.''

''Perhaps I could make one last request.'' Arthur nods. ''My men are not allowed to carry any weapons or firearms.''

''You want us to keep the peace?'' he asks as he motions between he and Charles. 

''Yeah, it'll be a lot of dull talking and ceremony, but I feel with some non-tribe members present, their chances of lying or worse will be reduced.''

''Will you, Arthur?'' Charles asks. 

He wants to argue the point, wants to remind Charles that they're on the run for countless cases of murder and robbing, that the Federal Bureau of Investigation was after them and that it wasn't their business.

''Yeah...'' he answers, nodding. ''Yeah, I'll help you out.''

''Thank you for doing this, both of you.'' Rains Fall says. ''You have already done so much.''

''Ain't a problem.'' Arthur tells him as they climb into the car Rains Fall had driven to the compound with Charles. ''Just hope nobody recognizes me.''

''I wish we could have done more to control the situation.'' Charles says as he starts the vehicle. ''Dutch  _should not_  have gotten involved.''

''My son has a mind of his own.'' the chief speaks from the front. ''Too much so, in fact. I just hope Colonel Favors can be reasoned with. I am not asking for very much. But when our people are sick and hungry, and we find out medicine and supples is being deliberately withheld, how can we not view that as something personal? When they destroy our sacred sites? How can I convince Eagle Flies and the others that they  _shouldn't_  fight back?''

''Maybe that's part of the reason why they're doing these things.'' Charles offers. ''Because they  _want_  you to fight. To be able to say, look, you see how these people behave?''

''Perhaps... thank you for helping Captain Monroe to retrieve those vaccines, Arthur. He will be at the meeting and is one person who knows the truth of the situation, at least. I still have hope that we can come to... an agreement.''

The meeting spot is between a grouping of dull office buildings all painted the same color of beige and white to match one another. The man he guesses is Colonel Favors sits at a metal table with a drink at his side as he finishes chewing something. Captain Monroe sits at his left, staring in a disgusted silence as the older man chews loudly and smacks his food between his teeth. 

The three at the table stand as the three from the reservation approach, giving what respect they must to the great chief as he greets them with a quiet respect. 

''Colonel Favors...'' his eyes move to the other man. ''Captain Monroe... we come in peace.''

''Hello again.'' Colonel Favors says. He stands with an important air about him, looking down at them from his nose. ''Who are these two?''

''They are, uh, friends of my people.''

''Interesting looking fellows.''

''Yeah, they won't cause any trouble.''

''Well, I should hope not. Listen uh... Mr...''

''Chief.''

''Yeah,'' he brushes it off. ''Mr... I can't say that silly name...''

''In English they call me Rains Fall.'' 

''Yes, yes, I'm... I'm sure they do.''

Rains Fall pulls the final chair out at the table and sits down, Arthur coughing into the crook of his arm as Charles stands strong beside him. 

''Listen, we're all Americans here... and, we... want an outcome. But quite frankly... quite frankly, I-I'm confused. Your men are little more than criminals, in my opinion.'' Arthur erupts in a fit of coughing suddenly behind Rains Fall, covering his mouth again as Favors tries to spit his words out but he can barely hear him over his noise. Apparently, Colonel Favors can't hear  _himself_  over Arthur's noise and asks that a guard escort him away for some fresh air. 

''It's quite a cough.'' the officer tells him, pulling a chair out for Arthur beside the small cafe. Arthur nods, wheezing and struggling. ''Wait here, I'll get you some water.''

The biker wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans forward, clearing his throat to get the taste out as his lungs continue to scrape to pull air inside. 

''I-I'll be fine!'' the man is already walking off to get him the water anyways. ''Thank you...''

''No, no. You know he's goin' to have Monroe court martialled. Or attempt to.'' 

He raises his head to the voices and peers around the building before scooting closer to the noise, looking over and seeing two officers chatting together.

''Monroe? He seems like a nice enough guy, why?''

''You know what Favors is like! Because he thinks it's right. Because he thinks Monroe is a patsy, or a spy. He's  _convinced_  he had somethin' to do with those vaccines being stolen. He thinks Monroe is going to force him into making concession with the Indians. So he removes Monroe.''

''Removed how?''

''He wants him tried for treason.''

''That's... why does Favors care about the Indians?''

''Because he doesn't want to back down... his whole professional life. You know what they say about him; High-Tail Favors, a man who missed a battle.''

Arthur sinks back in his chair and scoots back over in his place as the guard from before comes back with a bottle of water for him.

''Poor Monroe. I kinda liked him.''

''I know. Well still, he's kinda stuck up.''

''Feelin' better?" the officer asks him, holding the bottle out as Arthur stands.

''Yeah.'' he tells him, waving the bottle away and continuing on. ''Come on.''

He's escorted back to the meeting as Favors begins to get more heated, now targeting  _both_  Rains Fall and Captain Monroe. Rains Fall stands and excuses himself from the table, citing that it was a pointless argument and that the conversation will be continued another time. 

Favors scoffs as Monroe follows them to the car, Arthur gripping his wrist before he can go.

''You best come with us.'' he tells him. 

''Why?'' Monroe asks. 

''I heard some of Favor's boys talkin'. He wants you tried for treason.''

Monroe's mouth falls open as his eyes widen, disbelief spreading across his features before he clamps his mouth shut. 

''Are you sure?''

''I'm sure.''

''I'm... I'm parked further down the road.''

''I'll walk with you. Charles, take Rains Fall back.''

''Of course.'' Charles says, climbing into the car as Arthur follows Monroe down the sidewalk to his own vehicle. 

They don't speak again until they're both in the car, driving from the meeting place with Arthur's eyes on everything blurring past them. 

''Now you're absolutely certain-'' Monroe starts. 

''I know what I heard, Captain. I recommend you let me get you to the train station and outta here as soon as possible.''

Monroe glances to him before driving to the motel he'd been staying for the last couple of months. Arthur stands guard beside the car as the captain gets his things and backs his bags, quickly jogging back down the steps to throw his luggage in the back seat. 

Arthur drives him to the train station, updating Charles as he pulls into the parking lot and follows Monroe as he buys a ticket and walks out onto the platform. 

''I've been a military man my whole life...'' Monroe mutters, gripping the handles of the bags. "And what about the chief?''

''We'll do what we can.'' Arthur says as the train stops in front of them. ''Now go on, Captain Monroe. Get outta here.''

''I fear it may be Mr. Monroe from now on.''

''I'm sorry about your career. Here-'' Arthur reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls cash out for the other man, handing it over. ''-take this. Start a new life somewhere.''

Monroe shakes his hand. 

''I hear Tahiti's nice.''

''Thank you.'' Monroe says as he solemnly follows the stairs into the train. 

''Hop on a train in Phoenix, or Tucson, get as far away as you can.''

''I might go to Washington.'' Monroe tells him, turning to face him as others push their way onto the train and off again. ''Even if it will become my death sentence.''

''That's brave.'' Arthur nods. ''Stupid, but brave.''

Monroe breathes out a laugh and salutes, turning and hesitating before he walks up the steps into the train. 

Arthur sighs, breath hitching and forcing him into more coughing. He covers his mouth in the crowd, stumbling towards the benches. 

''Mr.Morgan!'' he raises his eyes to Sister Calderón. ''Are you okay?''

Her eyebrows are knit in worry, Arthur nodding in response as he can't very well get his words out of his mouth. She takes his arm and helps him sit on the bench, the biker slowly but surely catching his breath again. 

''Never better...'' he grounds out. ''What're you doin' 'ere?''

''I'm on my way down to Mexico! They're finally sending me on a mission!''

''Ah.''

''Brother Dorkins is  _very_  jealous.''

She sits beside him as Arthur's quick laughs turns into harder and more painful hacking. 

''What's wrong?'' 

''I'm uh...'' he swallows thickly and sits back on the bench, raising his face to the sun. ''I'm dyin', Sister.''

''Okay...''

''Yeah I got... cancer. A tumor on my left lung.'' he points to his chest, pressing the tip of his finger against it. ''I got it after years of beatin' men for a few bucks and celebratin' with a carton of cigarettes.'' he lets out one more cough. ''I've lived a  _bad_  life, Sister.''

''We've  _all_ lived bad lives, Mr. Morgan.'' she tells him as he finally turns his eyes to her. ''We all sin. But  _I know you_.'' she takes his hand kindly as Arthur laughs gently. 

''You don't know me.''

''Forgive me, but, that's the problem.  _You_  don't know you.'' she looks at him warmly. 

''What you mean?''

''I don't know but... whenever we happen to meet you're always helping people, and smiling.''

Arthur hums, looking towards the still stopped train. 

''I had a son... he passed away. I had a girl who loved me, I threw that away.'' he raises his hand to scratch at the scar on his chin beneath his stubble. ''My momma died when I was a kid and my daddy... well, I watched him die, and it weren't soon enough.''

Sister Calderón shares a moment of grieving silence with him, listening to the birds chirping and cicadas screaming. 

''My husband died a long time ago.'' it forces Arthur's eyes to her. ''Life is full of pain, but there is also  _love_  and  _beauty_.''

''Hah... what am I gonna do now?''

''Be grateful that for the first time, you see your life _clearly_.''

He breathes out a laugh, nodding.

''Sure.''

''Perhaps you could help somebody. Helping makes you really happy!''

''But...'' he sighs, eyes following the blue paint on the side of the train as they move across the metal to look at the woman beside him. ''I still don't believe in nothin'.''

She laughs gently, looking at the train as well. 

''Often, neither do I.'' she lifts her eyes to him as Arthur grunts. ''But then, I meet someone like you... and everything makes sense.''

He chuckles, taking a long moment to drag the air back into his lungs as she smiles beside him.

''You're too smart for me, Sister. I guess I...'' he stares at her, feeling his throat trembling and his eyes burning. ''I'm afraid.''

Her hand lays across his again as a breeze blows between them. 

''There is  _nothing_  to be afraid of, Mr. Morgan. Take a gamble that love exists, and do a loving act!''

The speaker above them calls for all train-goers to get aboard, the train leaving in less than a couple of minutes. Arthur pries his eyes away from her and looks up before standing, taking her bag for her.

''I shall try.''

''I know you will.''

She clasps his hand in her own as he leads her to the train, helping her up on the step where she turns to face him and takes the bag carefully. 

''Goodbye! Goodbye, Mr.Morgan!'' she says, the doors in front of her shutting as the train then lurches forward. 

''Sister,'' he says, raising his hand and waving back to her as the doorway becomes nothing but a speck and the train whips the wind around him.


	39. Goodbye, Dear Friend

Arthur finds out that the Reverend and Uncle left early that morning from Mary-Beth who was obviously debating the idea herself but her fear of Grimshaw kept her steeled in place. Arthur drives her out to the closest bus station with everything she could and wanted to carry, standing at the dusty station with the young woman at his side. 

They don't share any words until the bus pulls up, air escaping and the doors creaking open before she turns to him, smiling up at him. 

''I'll dedicate one of my books to you.'' she promises.

Arthur stares back, giving a warm smile. 

''I look forward to that.'' he says. 

She kisses his cheek gently before following the steps up into the bus, Arthur grinning at the ground until he waves the bus away, watching it follow the long stretch of road towards Mary-Beth's better life. 

Kieran leaves later in the day following a message from Mary-Beth.

-

He meets Dutch and Sadie at a fruit stand outside Albuquerque where Sadie is leaning back on the seat of her motorcycle, cutting an apple with her knife and Dutch is wiping his hands off using a napkin offered kindly by the owner of the stand, cigar between his teeth. 

''Don't you worry 'bout me.'' Sadie tells Dutch as the older man raises his eyes to Arthur.

''There you are.'' he states.

''Here I am.'' he answers as Dutch taps the ash from his cigar, putting it out on the sand.

''Come on, let's go.''

''Let's go where?'' Arthur asks, leaning past Sadie to the small crate of strawberries to pick one up and hand cash over to the owner. ''And why're you so riled up?''

''Today is a great day, Arthur.'' Dutch informs him. ''Today is the day they are going to hang Colm O'Driscoll.''

''Either they hang 'im or I shoot him.'' Sadie says. 

''Hang 'im? Hasn't he escaped from gangs tryin' to kill him more times than we can count?'' Arthur asks. 

''Yes, he has. But he won't, not today.'' Dutch wags his finger at him, approaching the back of his chopper motorcycle where a bag was secured. ''He's been kidnapped, again, and has been dragged off to Santa Fe. No doubt the Del Lobo's who have him are gonna to make it a f _amily fun_ ordeal, inviting every gang in the middle states to watch him hang. Some of Colm's boys are gonna be there, and we're gonna make sure they don't ever get to grab him.''

''But how?'' he asks as Dutch pries the bag off the back of his bike and pulls the flaps open, handing it over to let Arthur take a peek.

 _Cañada de los Alamos_  is where they end up, dressed in more casual, inconspicuous gear as they follow the promise of Colm being hung near Shaggy Peak. The three of them follow the trail towards the deeper bundling of trees as the night begins to grow. 

''Dutch, we're goin' in there almost promisin' our own deaths,'' Arthur says. They've ripped off more of these gangs than were accounted for. 

''It ain't gonna come to that, Arthur. We're gonna watch him take his final breaths and I am gonna be a happy man. Now, we keep our weapons holstered, our disguises on, and our wits about us. No one needs to know that the Van Der Linde's are there.''

''Mrs. Adler, might I say you look the part ready for a murder.'' he says. 

Sadie looks up at him from under her dark disguise, swimming in a hoodie with holes in it and a hat pulled onto her head covering her eyes. 

''I'd dress worse if it meant I got to see that son of a bitch swing.''

''Colm hung me up... nearly butchered me, that don't mean I'm comfortable in this woolen coat.''

''You made it outta that predicament as I remember, Mr. Morgan. My husband weren't so lucky.''

''You lost your husband,'' Dutch states. ''I lost my darling Annabelle, we almost lost that kid, Kieran. We've all lost  _somethin'_  because of Colm. And that is why we will shepherd him to eternity.''

''Amen to that.'' Sadie growls. 

''Now keep those fingers off those triggers because we'll need cool heads and calm dispositions to see this done.''

Arthur snorts from the back.

''Practice what you preach, brother.''

''Whatever do you mean?''

''Are you goin' to keep your cool? Really? When you seem to lose it, oh so often, now.''

''This doubting and questioning of yours... I miss the old Arthur.''

'' _Don't we all_.''

''You two, quit it.'' Sadie orders from between them both. ''We all got a job to do, and we're all in rough agreement on how to do it... as far as I can tell.''

''Exactly.'' Dutch says. 

''We'll get it done alright.'' Arthur states. 

''Alright then,'' Sadie lifts her head higher as they approach the gather of men and women watching a rope being tied up to a tree. ''Come on. We got a hangin' to witness.''

''Look here,'' Dutch motions with his chin. ''Don't we all  _love_  an execution.''

Sadie and Dutch hurry to the break in the trees as the designated entrance, Arthur strolling behind them and slowing as Dutch moves to one side and jerks his head slightly. 

''Okay...'' the gang president says. ''You see that... pair of assholes?''

Two men continuously shove each other back and forth.

''Sure.''

''They're Colm's boys.''

''Yes, I think so.'' Arthur says as he leans back against the same tree with Sadie. 

''What a surprise,'' Dutch says, laughing before his expression falls and his tone growls. ''I'm glad we're here.''

The three of them watch as two other O'Driscoll's join the men in their shoving match, breaking them up and continuously pointing back the way they came, but their arms are higher. 

''What are they pointin' at?'' Dutch asks, looking up through the trees to the tall metal beacon.

''I don't know... we'd better follow them to find out.''

One of the O'Driscoll's breaks from the group and walks past them, each turning away and clearing their throats before Dutch raises his head and glances back to the remainder of Colm's men. 

''Stay here.'' Dutch orders Sadie, stepping away as Arthur turns to her.

''Don't do nothin'.'' she nods in response as Arthur follows the older man.

He and Dutch follow the footfalls of the man in front of them back down the trail. 

''The crowd came to see a show,'' Dutch says. ''We don't want to disappoint them.''

''I guess they did miss their chance of hearin' of John dyin'...''

''Hey. Hey! You knew I wasn't gonna let it come to that.''

''I guess I don't know what I know no more.''

''And I guess this isn't the time to question either my decisions, or yours.  _Here_ , and  _now_ , Colm O'Driscoll is gonna  **get his due**.''

The O'Driscoll cuts through the trees, following an off path away from the main trail. 

''Move quiet.'' Dutch orders him, both sneaking after the man through the brush as he comes across another O'Driscoll.

''How's it lookin'?'' the first man asks. 

''Buncha gangs.''

''How many?''

''Enough.''

''So what'cha think?''

''Paul's up on the roof of that treehouse and once he starts shootin', we have to have our wits about us and move fast.''

''Yeah... I guess we faced worse than this before.''

''Sure. Let's get to it.''

They shove each other and walk away, Dutch ordering Arthur to find that treehouse and kill that man before he had any chance of freeing Colm. He nods, Dutch making his way back to Mrs. Adler as Arthur moves through the tree trunks in the vague direction of the hanging tree. 

He finds a ladder nailed into the wood of the tree and climbs up it, hoisting himself tiredly to the top of the tree house roof and finding a bag with a sniper rifle beside it. Arthur looks over towards the hanging tree and can see the group below with the rope swung over one of the branches, but they wouldn't be able to see him. 

Something grabs his ankle and tries to drag him down, Arthur falling back harshly against the surface of the roof before he kicks at the O'Driscoll. His foot lands in the man's wrist, causing him to flail as he reaches back for the edge, Arthur kicking again and this time hitting him in the face. The O'Driscoll's hands let go and he gasps before dropping down to the ground below, his back bending back unnaturally as he hits a boulder. Arthur stares down at the body as blood begins to pool from his mouth before he turns to the rifle and picks it up, cocking and aiming.

''Well, Colm...'' he mutters, staring through the sight. ''There goes your escape plan.''

''Today-'' he hears the announcer. ''-justice catches up with Colm O'Driscoll!''

There's an eruption of cheers from the group, a few beer cans being tossed around as Colm only laughs. 

''As well you may,'' he says. ''I've been a bad man-''

''Silence!''

''These charges-''

A gag is shoved into his open mouth. 

''This is not a court where you shall be tried!'' Arthur can see Sadie and Dutch moving up behind the O'Driscoll's. ''This is a place where your sentence is to be carried out.''

Sadie brings her knife to one's throat, pinning him in place as Dutch wraps his arm around the other's shoulders and presses the barrel of his gun against the side of his skull, eyes watching Colm. 

Colm's eyes stare towards his men on the ground and his eyebrows furrow as he recognizes who exactly was holding his men while the announcer continues talking. His eyes widen as the noose is pulled around his throat, Colm looking to the roof of the treehouse where Arthur waves with the rifle over his shoulder, smiling.

He looks around, scared and fidgeting on the top level of the ladder he was standing on until his eyes meet Dutch's. Arthur watches Colm begin hyperventilating around his gag, arms bound behind his back and noose being tightened around his throat.

''Colm O'Driscoll. May God, in his infinite wisdom, have mercy upon your soul.''

The ladder is shoved out from beneath his feet and he drops, the rope yanking him back and snapping his neck. Arthur breathes out a sigh of relief and lowers the rifle into his hands, watching and waiting for Sadie and Dutch's next move before Sadie lets out a war shriek and slices the throat of the O'Driscoll in her grip. 

Dutch grabs her bicep after she shoots the next one in the head and drags her back, firing off rounds as Arthur lifts the rifle's sight back to his eye and gives them cover. A car carrying more O'Driscoll's pulls up and Arthur shoots at the men getting out, the rest of the gangs running or shooting the O'Driscoll's with them before the remainder of Colm's men run and leave the body hanging from the tree. 

The gang leader waves for Arthur to get away as he climbs in the front seat, Sadie hopping in the front with him. 

His eyes move over to the tree, seeing Colm slumped forward as he hangs lifelessly above the ground.

-

Micah and Bill are starting a celebration in front of the clubhouse garage, drinking to their good health after successfully stealing the dynamite from the army. Dutch raises a bottle with them, Arthur sitting in the corner in exhaustion as he feels his breath wheeze from his chest repeatedly.

He watches them start a small fire in the center of the pit, hoarsely laughing and yelling together while trying to get Javier to join in. 

Arthur sips water he got for himself in his slumped position inside the clubhouse, watching them through the windows as Micah spews something drunkenly to Dutch while Charles pulls into the compound quickly and steers around the celebration to park. He asks them something over the noise of their radio, interrupting their yelling to speak. 

They drunkenly spit something at him before pointing to the clubhouse, Arthur resting his head back against the wall with a dull thud. Charles quickly walks away, stepping inside the clubhouse and searching the rooms around them before he comes to Arthur's shoulder, Javier beginning to sing with the other men outside. 

Charles comes to Arthur's side, pulling a chair up and nervously looking outside as his chest heaves.

''What's wrong with you?'' Arthur asks, looking at him past his nose as Charles pushes the chair closer and swallows thickly. ''Did you get hurt?''

''No.'' Charles looks at him, eyes and face serious which forces Arthur to raise his head and furrow his eyebrows.

''What? What's wrong?''

''I think...'' Charles lets out a breath slowly and tilts his head as if he was arguing with himself. ''I think that... no, I-I  _know_ that Hosea wasn't killed.''

Time around Arthur stops as he stares at Charles, mouth opening some as a confused breath leaves his lips. Slowly, the sound of the radio outside thumps loudly back into his hearing.

''What you talkin' about?'' he asks. 

''Hosea is alive, Arthur.'' Charles tells him. ''He's been seen getting taken from California up to Oregon by some of Eagle Flies' men. He's  _alive_ , Arthur. He's alive and the cops are trying to get him to talk.''

Arthur leans back, shaking his head even as his eyes flick to Micah outside. 

''No-no...'' Arthur argues, denying it and pushing the flicker of hope from his heart.

''Arthur, please, I have no reason to lie to you.''

''Are you sure that they saw 'im?'' he asks, turning his eyes back to Charles.

''If it isn't Hosea, then its a damn good look alike.''

''Where'd they see 'im?''

''Being escorted to a safe house in the forest. They think that the bureau is probably trying to get him to talk, but Hosea won't. The way they described him, it sounds  _exactly_  like Hosea. From the grey hair to the endless chattering about useless nothings.'''

Arthur grips his plastic water bottle in his hand, slowly turning his eyes to Micah outside. The image of him is altered by the heat coming off of the pit's flames, distorting his features and his shape until it all blurs together in Arthur's glare.


	40. Favored Sons

Arthur is told to meet John under the newly built train overpass that is going to be used as a bridge over the freeway. The section of road is closed off and there isn't often many cars around now that all traffic was re-routed around the construction site, so it left he and John plenty of time to get the dynamite in and the charges set. 

John is checking over the boxes of dynamite when the older man arrives, approaching the back of the truck where the boxes sit as the younger man turns to look at him.

''Arthur,'' he greets.

''How you doin'?'' he asks. 

''Nervous.'' John says and nods, resting his hand in the bed of the truck. ''But, I've been nervous for a while. I had a lotta time to think while they were throwin' me between jails-'' he pulls a carton of cigarette's out and offers one to Arthur who declines, John sticking it between his own lips instead as Arthur reaches in his pocket for his matches. ''-and I feel like I  _just don't know_  Dutch no more.''

''You ain't the only one.'' Arthur tells him, pulling the packet of matches out. 

''And this plan to get us out, it just feels... I don't know.''

''Like he's stringin' us along, I know.'' 

The older man leans agains the back of the truck with John, raising the match up to light his cigarette. They both pause and look towards the red and black crates, then back to each other before John tosses the cigarette aside and Arthur slips his matches back in his pocket. 

''Killin' in cold blood, revenge, we all do bad things but...'' John looks back at Arthur. ''He seems to enjoy it now. It's like he just  _wants_  to create more enemies. More chaos.''

''Yeah, I know.''

''I mean-'' John wraps his fingers around the handle of the first dynamite crate, Arthur helping him carry it. ''-I love Dutch. He saved me a long time ago.''

They carry the box from the truck towards the newly built overpass, setting the box down.

''I feel like in San Francisco, when I got arrested, maybe he could have done something.''

''I feel like you should take your woman, and your child, and get lost.''

''Do ya?''

''You can... you can give somethin' to Jack. It's that or-'' he laughs. ''Well, I don't see no way outta this.''

''Well, what about loyalty?'' John asks as Arthur begins walking back to the truck for the other box of dynamite. 

''Be loyal to what matters.'' he answers and stops, peering at John through the sunlight. 

''What are you gonna do?'' the younger man follows him down the hill, Arthur coughing lightly and spitting again. 

''I-I'll be okay... but do it, for me.'' he turns to him. ''And it would make me... feel... good, if that makes any sense.''

''A little, but-''

''Listen to me-'' Arthur says firmly. ''-when the time comes, you gotta run and don't look back. This is over.''

''...and now?''

''And now we gotta help Dutch give the army one final tweak on its nose.'' He gestures to the overpass and John lets out a breath.

''Yeah... come on.''

They grab the next box and carry it to the bridge together, setting it down once they reach the top again. 

''There's a place underneath the bridge where we can set up the charges. I've already set the detonator, it just needs somethin' to blow.'' John says.

''Sure.'' Arthur tells him. ''Let's get this over with.''

They break open the crates and get bundles of dynamite together.

''Did you hear about Dutch and Cornwall?'' the older man asks.

''Yeah, this is what I'm talkin' about.'' John says as they stroll down the bridge together with the bundles in their arms. ''More enemies, more chaos...''

Arthur looks down at the explosives he was holding.

''We sure got a lot of this stuff...'' he mutters.

''We'll need it.'' 

They set the dynamite in silence, Arthur feeling the rails begin shaking with an oncoming train. He finishes up and helps John back up from under the bridge, walking back with him and sliding down the hill with the empty crates as the train passes behind them and blows dust and rocks over them both.

Arthur brushes the dirt from his shoulders and tosses the empty crates into the back of the gang's truck while John brushes his hands off, getting small pebbles out of the skin.

''I should erm, tell you...'' the older man turns to John, leaning back against the bed of the truck. ''Charles came to me the other night talkin' 'bout the natives havin' seen somethin'.''

''Seen what?''

''...Hosea...'' John's eyes widen as he quietly repeats Arthur's words. ''Apparently the cops got 'im and they're tryin' to get 'im to talk.''

''He won't.''

''No. He'll talk a lot, but he won't actually ever say a goddamn thing that'll be important to 'em.'''

''But Micah said-''

''Micah says  _a lot_ , John. He's all bark, no bite, ever since day one. He showed that in Las Vegas after he got Dutch riled up and it all went to shit. I just gotta get proof before I take this to Dutch.''

''I ain't sure that even with proof Dutch will listen to us.''

Arthur nods in the solemn air around them both before John reminds him about the detonator. 

''D'you want the honors?'' the younger man asks him. 

Arthur wraps his hands around the detonator and pushes it down, watching the concrete and steel bar bridge blow loudly, the sound wave rippling in the air as the pieces fire in separate directions, the rest slumping down onto the freeway below. John whoops loudly beside him as Arthur steps back, feeling the heat of the blast even from their distance.

''Well, I guess old Dutch got all the smoke he wants!'' he shouts and gestures to it. 

''Let's hope so.'' John answers and laughs. 

''Do you  _really_  think that that'll draw attention away from us?''

''I guess we'll see.'' they begin strolling back to the truck. ''Do you have any plans on getting Hosea?''

''Not right now. I'm sure he's probably better off where they got 'im than dealin' with a mainly psychotic Dutch and Micah fightin' his way to the top.''

John's quiet a moment longer before he speaks again.

''Tell the truth, I ain't even sure I fully understand Dutch's plan with all this.''

''Like I said, John, when the time comes, you go.''

''But what about the loyalty to the gang, to each other and everything?''

''You been loyal. I been loyal. Look what that caused. You know all that ever mattered to me was loyalty? It was all I knew. It was all I ever believed in. But not anymore, John. Soon... you gotta go. Go... and don't look back.''

John stares before sighing, shaking his head and wrapping his fingers around the door handle of the driver's side of the truck. 

''I'll think about it.'' he huffs. 

''I've done a lotta thinkin'.'' he continues as John climbs in the truck and rolls the window down, turning the volume of the radio down and letting the classic rock continue quietly as the engine starts. ''Look at us... out here riskin' our necks and for what exactly?''

''For a-''

''For an idea that don't work no more.''

''How you mean?''

''You know  _just_  what I mean.'' John looks to the dashboard instead of facing Arthur's gaze. ''You got a family. You need cash, you need to start buildin' a life for yourself. Me? Well... I need a vacation.''

John snorts, rolling his head to look back at the older man. 

''And  _Dutch_... has all the money. For safekeepin'.''

''You know somethin'? Abigail thinks she might know where some of that money is.''

Arthur nods slowly, eyebrows furrowing.

''Well you tell her she better make sure... and then come talk to me, and we'll find out just who and what we should be loyal to.''

John sighs again, leaning back in the driver's seat as he stares out the window.

''I-I don't know, Arthur.''

''Nor do I... but I'm seein' things a lot more clearly now. I  _wish_  things were different. But it weren't us who changed.''

The younger man nods slowly, Arthur nodding in return before the truck pulls away from the mess of the destroyed overpass. He coughs harshly, blood coming up into his palm and he sighs, resting against the seat of his bike.

-

The next part of Dutch's plan involves using the natives, specifically Eagle Flies' rage and his men. Their plan is to drop the trees lining the road on the military convoy coming through and Dutch  _could not_  be more excited about this idea.

''So good of you to join us.'' Dutch remarks as Arthur arrives. 

''What's goin' on?''

''Rebellion. The smell of cordite and integrity.'' the older man steps back from the side of the cliff face where he'd been watching the road with the younger men around him. ''It is a beautiful thing.''

''What are y'all doin'?''

''An eye for an eye. We didn't start this war, Arthur,  _they did_.''

''We? This ain't our fight.''

''It surely is.''

''Whatever you're plannin', it ain't a good idea. They  _want_  you to fight.''

''Nobody will be killed.'' Eagle Flies tells him. 

''We're just gonna trap a few of 'em, disarm 'em, tar and feather 'em, and remind 'em to leave these boys alone.''

''You have energy for pranks?''

''Come on, Arthur. It's just tweakin' Uncle Sam's nose a little bit.'' he grabs a box of explosives from the back of one of the men's trucks, carrying it under his arm as Arthur follows him down the hill towards the trees. ''I need you to help me.''

They put some distance between them and the young men as they move back down the hill, Arthur looking his shoulder at them as Dutch continues.

''Besides, it's perfect. People will see these boys, they won't notice us and they'll think we're gone.  _Everyone_  will blame  _everything_  on the Indian problem and we'll disappear up the river. But first we need to trap these soldiers... help me dynamite these trees.''

''So... you're usin' 'em.''

''No, sir, no... never... but, it is mutually beneficial to draw attention to one problem and a veil over another.''

Arthur sucks in a breath.

''These are good people... but their situation is  _real_  complex, we ain't helpin' 'em.''

''Sure we are.'' Dutch picks up the pace as he pushes his sunglasses further up his nose. ''Come on, let's get this done.''

Arthur picks up the spool and helps Dutch connect the dynamite to the trees, running the wire as Eagle Flies warns them of the convoy coming soon. 

''So, you finally got to see Colm die.'' Arthur says, running the wire to the third tree. 

''Yeah... after all those years. Hard to believe...  _oh_ , but it was worth the wait. See? We're tyin' up loose ends, Arthur,  _one by one_.''

Arthur doesn't say anything as he connects the wire to the final tree, Eagle Flies shouting for them to get back up the cliff. Dutch stashes the box of dynamite and leads them back up the hill, a growing sense of dread becoming stronger in the pit of Arthur's stomach as his lungs force themselves to regulate air while he jogs up the incline. 

''Quick now, Arthur, everyone into position!'' Eagle Flies orders, everyone in crouched positions on the edge of the cliff, watching the convoy begin to come around the corner. They pull their masks up over their faces on Eagle Flies' order, watching the vehicles meander towards the tree-lined road. ''Oh, damn... patrol's a lot larger than we thought it was going to be.''

Dutch chuckles.

''Don't worry...'' he states. ''That's a good thing. You sure you don't want me to man that plunger, Arthur?''

'' _No_. I got it.''

''Oh, remove the weight of the world from your shoulders for a minute. Like I said, we're just gonna give 'em a bit of a scare...''

The patrol pulls into the tree-lined road, Dutch convincing the group that they had the upper hand even as vehicles of armed men, double the size of their group, passes beneath them. Once they pass the first charge, Arthur strikes the plunger and watches the tree trunks blow, slamming the logs over the hoods of the vehicles and trapping them in at the back. 

Eagle Flies and the rest stands with their guns aimed, threatening and talking to the soldiers below as Arthur coughs into his bandana and stumbles back. The argument between the two sides continue before Dutch walks out to the edge of the cliff, aiming his own gun and threatening the soldiers himself.

''-take a little humiliation and leave these fine folks alone.'' 

''Who are you?''

''A  _concerned citizen_.''

''Is that so?''

Arthur and the men hear shouts coming from further down the road where another group of soldiers was closing in, and fast. 

''We need to move.'' the road captain tells them, already stepping back.

''No, no, no, no...'' Dutch responds. ''Give me a minute. Soldier, you and your friends gonna tuck tail and run off?! Run!''

He shouts down below even as the group of soldiers nears. 

''Excuse me?''

''I'm gettin' bored of this...'' Dutch says, cocking his gun as a bullet ricochet's off one of the rocks beside him, everyone ducking. ''Your friends fired first, solder!''

A gunfight explodes into action, Eagle Flies complaining that his father wasn't going to be happy about it as bullets rip the trees around them apart and their own slam the soldiers into the ground.

''They fired first, son.'' Dutch justifies.

A group comes up the side of the hill, Arthur turning the barrel of his gun to them as the rest fire with him, silence spreading over them before they begin running down the hill towards the trucks and vehicles still stopped on the road.

''You fools.'' he says. ''You damn fools! It's the army!''

''It is one regiment of pastry chefs and bullies,'' Dutch tells him as he jogs at his shoulder. ''Watch your goddamn mouth. Everyone, take what you can and then move out!''

''Move now.'' Arthur says. '' _We_ have to move  _now_!''

The group continues searching the soldiers on the ground and their vehicles for something, ignoring Arthur's statement.

''This is crazy...'' he says. ''Why aren't we gettin' outta here?''

''They might have information on 'em that'll help our friends with their cause.'' Dutch answers as Arthur stands aimlessly in the middle of the road. He watches Dutch grab a soldier by his vest and lift him up, searching him and dropping him again. 

''We need anything my father can use to strengthen our case.''

''I ain't sure much is gonna strengthen your case after this.'' Arthur mutters. 

''Find anything?'' Dutch asks.

Arthur slips the ID and license he found of a young twenty year old back into the soldier's belongings before standing, shaking his head.

''No... nothin'.'' The older man comes to his side, dropping another's wallet as he pockets the cash for himself and stares at the carnage around him. ''These soldiers ain't the problem... they're just kids, Dutch.''

''They are pieces to a bigger, larger issue.'' he answers, setting his hands on his gun belt as the rest regroup and then scatter back to their vehicles. Arthur follows Dutch to their motorbikes and rides with him away from the absolute  _mess_  they left behind.

They're silent until Dutch stops him on the lonesome road outside of Magdalena, his arm shooting across his chest and forcing a strained breath from his lungs as he knocks the wind out of him. He points to the alleyway as a group of official cars appear on the road and both steer in between the buildings.

''You know, Arthur,'' Dutch says as they park their bikes and stash them. ''You should stop doubting Eagle Flies. He was the one that suggested we use fake, rubber bullets in our guns instead of real ones.'' 

Arthur slows, covering his motorcycle.

''What are you talkin' about?''

Dutch pulls a translucent case from his jacket and hands it over to Arthur who looks over the rubber buckshot bullets in his hands.

''Same sort of stuff that the cops use when firin' bean bags at criminals. Non-lethal. We just knocked a few of those suckers out and got away free.'' Dutch laughs, walking around Arthur. 

''And what was your plan?''

''I let that boy take the reigns on this one.'' he lifts a cigar to his mouth, peering around the side of the alleyway before he speaks again. ''Those soldiers are fightin' nature. They could ask you, my whole life I tried to fight change... it's a waste... I see that now. It's a waste. You can't fight nature, son, you can't fight... gravity. Least of all, you can't fight change.'' 


	41. The King's Son

After the ordeal with the military, Arthur must help Charles get Eagle Flies' out of police custody for his father. They were trying to convict him on assault charges, stating terrorism when they lie extensively about where the boy was and allow his friends to back them up when the officers ask around. 

It's better than having to break him out of jail, Eagle Flies showing great compassion towards their actions as Charles takes him back to the reservation to be scolded by his father and his seniors. 

Arthur stares at the two new men at the clubhouse, Cleet and Joe, their names are. They were Micah's friends that are now eating the food out of Pearson's kitchen like it was their own personal buffet, but even Pearson left too. 

He surely didn't blame him.

Sadie is throwing her knife at a designated piece of board, having drawn out limp and bulky circles in blue marker for her target practice. Arthur ignores the two newcomers lounging in the clubhouse as he approaches her, Sadie throwing her knife again.

''Mrs. Adler.'' he greets as the knife hits the center dot in the middle of the board. 

''You okay?'' she asks.

''Peachy.'' Arthur tells her and seats himself on top of the stack of wooden board they were supposed to ship out to sell weeks ago. 

''You sure?''

''No, I ain't sure.''

''You still workin'?'' 

She strolls closer to her target, ripping the end of the knife from the wood before taking her marked place a few feet from it. 

''Is  _anyone_  still workin'? The whole goddamn place full of people bickerin', lyin', and fightin'. It makes me real sad.''

''I know.'' Sadie nods, sticking her knife back in her belt on her side. ''I need someone to ride with me.''

''To do what?''

''Finish off them O'Driscoll's.'' it sounds like a mission built for an angry Sadie Adler. ''I hear the last of 'em are holed up someplace called  _Claunch_.''

Arthur lowers his head, shaking it as he scratches his chin.

''I don't have it in me no more.'' he admits, feeling defeated. ''I saw Colm swing, I... I just don't care.''

She fumes in front of him as Arthur lifts his head.

''I was a married woman... you  _know_  what they did to me! And to my husband!''

She stomps a few feet away from him and covers her mouth, Arthur swallowing his guilt as she pulls in a shaky breath and wipes her mouth, turning back to him.

''Look, you're the only one of these fools that I trust.'' she announces, turning her back to the clubhouse and crossing her arms as she glares at it. ''I've  _gotta_  do this.''

Arthur sighs before standing, approaching her slowly with his hands clasped in front of him.

''I tell you what... I'll do it, but there's somethin' you could help me with. Abigail, Jack,'' he beings counting on his fingers. ''John. Make sure they make it. I mean, this whole thing's pretty much done... but... when the time comes-''

''But, how do you mean?''

''When the time comes, you help 'em.'' Arthur clears his throat and gestures forcefully towards the building.

'' _What do you mean_?''

''I mean...'' he lowers his voice. ''Help them escape when I... You know, you and me... we're more  _ghosts_  than people. But them, they-they could-''

''I know.'' Sadie answers, nodding firmly from beside him as they stare at the clubhouse together, Sadie turning herself to him fully. ''Of course I will. Thank you, Arthur.''

He nods to her, rubbing the ache in his chest away. 

''You wanna ride with me now or are you gonna meet me when you can?'' he pulls the keys to his motorcycle from his pocket and she nods. ''Thanks, Arthur.''

They climb onto their motorbikes as one, leaving the compound in Magdalena behind to ride to  _Claunch_ , some seventy or something miles away. The remaining O'Driscoll's are holed up in an old ranch that was unused and abandoned, using it to their liking as they wandered around aimlessly without having Colm there to order them around. 

''There's a bunch of 'em down there,'' Sadie tells him, semi-automatic rifle thrown over her shoulder. ''Mostly drunk. But one of 'em, he's a fat feller with a beard. Him, he's mine.''

Arthur rubs his eyes and nods, coughing quickly as she tosses him a shotgun to use and a belt of ammunition to wear. He pulls it over his head, following her to the entrance of the ranch where she decides their next move. 

''I got a plan.'' she promises. ''Now come on.''

''She's from Dutch's gang.'' An O'Driscoll says, two of them approaching the front gates as Sadie pulls a grenade from side and walks closer. She pulls the pin out with her teeth and throws it, it blowing up the propane tank on the side of the house and causing it to burst into flames as Arthur raises the shotgun to fire. 

''Come on!'' She shouts. ''Let's finish this!''

They shoot the men at the gate as a man screams in agony, stumbling out of the home on fire while they both continue firing at the oncoming O'Driscoll's. They erupt from all sides of the ranch, Arthur and Sadie covering each other's backs before a loud gunshot rings out from the barn and almost takes Mrs. Adler's head off.

Both of them dive behind cover, giving Arthur the chance to reload his gun. 

''The barn!'' Sadie shouts. ''There's a sniper in the barn!''

He throws the barrel of the shotgun shut and pulls his pistol from his waist, raising it and shutting one eye as he gazes through the sight. Arthur pulls the trigger and watches the back of the O'Driscoll's head blow, the man dropping and his gun falling with him. 

''Jake Adler... Sadie Adler... we was good people...''

Arthur can hear her growling their last rites to them as the O'Driscoll's begin to come around from the back of the barn, the agonized screaming continuing as he fires off rounds into their stomachs and their chests, Sadie making a damn large mess of every man that crossed her path. 

''You ruined us!'' she continues. ''You ruined me!''

He's glad to not be on the receiving end of any vengeance erupting from Mrs. Adler. 

Sadie shoots the last one through the jaw and lets the body drop before ordering Arthur to handle the barn and allow her to get the farm house. He jogs towards it, cocking the shotgun and pressing himself against the wall of the barn before turning and aiming the gun inside. 

An O'Driscoll jumps at him and Arthur cringes as he pulls the trigger and short range and feels it rain on him. He handles the rest in the barn, stopping to catch his breath before heading inside to the farm house. 

There's a body slumped forward in the doorway with it's head barely clinging on and two more drowning in pools of their own blood on the floor of the living room when he arrives, seeing Sadie's figure disappear up the stairs just in time. There's loud crashing from upstairs and then angered yelling from Sadie's part as Arthur climbs the steps. 

The bedroom door opens and a large man stumbles back, Sadie pulling her knife from his stomach as he falls back onto his ass.

''You bastard piece of shit!'' she spits, bringing the knife above her head and into the man's chest, slamming it through and hitting major veins that spurt blood back onto her. ''I told you you'd see me again...''

She brings it up again and slams it into his throat, tension releasing from her spine visibly as Arthur lowers his arms and watches as she revels in the sounds of the man choking on his own blood. She gasps and stands, panting angrily and dropping her knife on the hardwood floor before trying to wipe the blood from her arms. The same blood covers her clothing and one side of her face, Arthur seeing tears beginning to well in her angry eyes. 

''You okay?'' he asks. 

''Yeah...'' Mrs. Adler responds, Arthur picking the chair on the floor up and standing it on its legs, its back facing the mess. ''He was a  _good_   _man_ , my Jakey.''

She sniffles and continues to catch her breath as she steps over the body and comes to sit in the chair, dropping herself in it and slumping back as the blood began to dry on her skin and her clothes. 

''We was always sweet on one another.'' it's the most heartbreaking tone he's ever heard Mrs. Adler use, a genuine pain and sadness showing itself to him for the first time as her grieving and anger continues to stir deep inside her heart and her mind. Arthur pats her warmly on the shoulder, moving around in front of her to lean against the stair banister.

''I'm sure.''

She wipes her eyes and flicks the dead man's blood from her hands.

''I miss 'im everyday... every moment.'' she admits, leaning forward in the chair and showing the rage on her face once more. ''They turned me into a monster, Arthur! But my memories of him...'' she clenches her jaw and swallows harshly, sniffling again as he stands in front of her with his arms crossed, more than ready to continue listening. ''They still pure.''

''Huh... I ain't even got that.''

She finds the strength within herself to force out a laugh, wiping her nose with the back of her less bloodied hand as she raises her eyes to him.

''Aside from my Jake... you're the best man I've known.''

Arthur shakes his head, looking towards the window in the corner of the room where more blood specks decorate the side and give him a view towards the column of smoke rising from the still burning building beside theirs. 

''I know the company you keep, the competition ain't too fierce.'' she forces the same laugh out again, brushing her fallen blond hair away from her face before it could stick to her skin. ''We should, erm... we should get away from here.''

They both look to the body of the dead man on the ground and Sadie lets out a relieved breath before standing from the chair. 

''I think I need to be alone for a bit.'' Sadie tells him once they're outside and with their motorcycles once more, breathing fresh air. 

''I understand.'' he answers, motioning to her clothing and forcing her eyes to it too. ''You um, you might want to get yourself cleaned up a bit before you go anywhere.''

She snorts weakly, seating herself on her motorcycle.

''Thank you, Arthur.''

The engine roars to life before Mrs. Sadie Adler, widow, rides away. 

-

In order to get to Dutch back at the clubhouse, Arthur must walk past Cleet and Joe, glaring at them as they glare in response.

''Why're these two still here?'' he asks, Dutch pulling his cigar from his mouth.

''Old pals of Micah's...'' he tells him as Bill and Javier polish their guns. 

''They're gettin'  _real_  comfortable.''

''We need guns for what's comin'.'' Micah informs him, now having unzipped his jacket to fully reveal and show off his belt of grenades. ''Cleet and Joe know how to fight, it's lucky I bumped into 'em.''

''What is goin' on, Dutch?'' Arthur asks. ''What is happenin' to us? What's happenin' to  _you?_ ''

''You show him some respect.'' Micah hisses as he marches up to Arthur's face. Arthur promptly spits in Micah's eyes and the other's mouth drops open before voices shouting and engine's roaring interrupts what could have happened. 

''Mr. Van der Linde!'' its Eagle Flies with his entire battalion, Charles standing at the ready behind them. ''Mr. Morgan! Charles!''

The group rides into the compound, every biker looking up to them as Eagle Flies' small army slows in front of them.

''They tried to kill my people for oil! For oil! Today we ride once more! Ride with me, ride with us! Ride with us against the factory.''

''I  _love_  your courage, son,'' Dutch tells him as he approaches the organized militia in front of him, raising his arms. ''It is a thing of great beauty.''

Rains Fall's car drives in and he brakes too hard, Arthur seeing the things in his back seat flying into the front before he throws the car door open and steps out, holding his hand up.

''Stop!'' he shouts. ''Everyone stop! My son... my last son...'' the younger man refuses to look his father in the eyes as the older man approaches his bike and stands in front of the handlebars. ''Don't.''

Dutch crosses his arms in front of his chest and watches with the rest of them.

''When I was your age, I fought. I saw much death, I killed. The men I knew were slain. My first born, your brother had his head smashed by a drunken officer. My wife had her throat slit. We made peace... I knew not to trust, yet I had no choice. Maybe you were right, maybe a slow death is worse than a fast one. Maybe  _none_  of these men are good. Maybe a world in which they came to us is a world we cannot endure! But endure we must.''

''Father, you are tired.'' his son tells him in return, his eyes narrowed. 

''Do not die for pride, my son! We have suffered too much in this trick. The Earth, the water, they have no pride! They endure, and we must endure! My only boy... my precious boy... do not mistake my strength for weakness. As your chief, I implore you.''

Eagle Flies stares at the older man as his face grows cold.

''Your words mean nothing to me, Father.''

''Don't-''

''Ride with me! Now!'' Eagle Flies revs his bike's engine and it forces his father to step back, the steady stream of men riding out of the compound as easily as they had come in.

''Stop! Please... stop.''

John leans closer to Arthur as the battalion exits their clubhouse grounds, Arthur hearing Charles sigh heavily at his shoulder.

''Please... Mr. Morgan-'' he raises his eyes to Rains Fall. ''-after you helped me, after we spoke, this is just a trap! My son, my people will all die.''

The chief stops in front of him, the rest of the group wandering closer as Dutch raises his hand to the older man in front of him.

''You helped this feller, Arthur?'' he asks, Micah tilting his head at him.

''Please...'' he hears Rains Fall again.

''What else you been doin' behind Dutch's back?'' Micah digs. 

'' _What?_ '' he says, taking a step closer but Rains Fall voice interrupts his anger. 

''The wars have been long over, we have lost. These young men will be annihilated! Please.''

''I'll see what I can do.'' he responds, looking to the others. ''Charles, will you ride with me?''

''Always.'' he says and nods.

''Who else will come with me?'' Arthur shouts. 

''Oh I'll ride with you, Arthur.'' Dutch tells him casually, following him to the motorbikes. ''Who knows what other secrets I'll find out. Who else?''

Sadie agrees and so does John, Javier jumping in and Bill begrudgingly follows while Micah and his two snakes obediently stay behind. They ride out in the same formation they'd been riding in for years, but Arthur rides further to the back while Dutch shouts to them over the roar of their engines. 

''What else you been doin' behind my back, Arthur?'' 

''I was  _tryin'_  to keep this mess from gettin' any worse.'' he responds. ''Clearly that didn't work.''

''Why the hell would they attack the oil fields?'' John asks as Arthur coughs. 

''What do you mean?'' Dutch shoots back. ''It's perfect!''

''This was your idea?'' Arthur spits.

''Partly... the army, the government, the industrialists... they've taken  _everything_  from these people. Wouldn't you wanna fight back?''

''You've handed them a death sentence!''

''Just like John if we hadn't gotten him outta that prison!'' Sadie shouts. 

''Hey!'' Bill growls. ''Show some goddamn respect!''

''You'll  _know_  when I ain't showin' respect, Bill.''

''I had a plan.'' Dutch tells them. ''I  _still_ have a plan!''

''What plan?'' John argues. ''What goddamn plan, Dutch? Tahiti? Timbuktu?''

''That's enough!'' Javier yells. ''What's wrong with you all? What happened to loyalty?''

''Yeah,'' John laughs. ''What did?''

''Thank you, Javier, Bill.'' Dutch interrupts. ''It doesn't matter how we got here, right now. These men need our help. I have a plan...  _this_  is the plan. So either stick with me, or cut loose! Because I am tired of this constant dissent, long tired of it. Now come on!''


	42. My Last Son

They stop at the head of the hill on their motorcycles, watching the oil factory burn in the distance. Arthur can hear gunfire and yelling as Eagle Flies' men run back to their vehicles from their fight.

''It's a massacre.'' Charles growls. Arthur looks through his binoculars towards the flames, searching it for any sign of Eagle Flies' or the rest of his men. 

''We gotta help these men.'' Dutch says.

''Can anyone see Eagle Flies?'' Arthur asks. 

''There.'' Charles points. ''Goin' across the walkway.''

Eagle Flies can be seen fighting his way through, men on either side of him covering him. 

''You got what you wanted, Dutch.'' Arthur tells him as he lowers the binoculars from his eyes. 

''You comin', Arthur?'' Dutch asks.

''I'm gonna try and save him, this fight is unwinnable- if you go and distract them and let me get to him.''

''Have it your way. The rest of you, ride with me! You meet us at the factory. Let's ride!''

Dutch, Bill, and Javier's motorbikes roar away, half of Eagle Flies men who had regrouped with them following after while John goes to make sure Dutch didn't get himself killed. The other half of the young man's soldiers stay with Arthur, Sadie and Charles perched with them.

''You go too, I'm better off alone.'' Arthur tells them pointing to the group roaring on their motorcycles.

''We're riding with you.'' Charles answers firmly, pulling his gun from his belt.

''Come on, then!''

Their line of men pull away, motorcycles growling as they ride down the embankment towards the fire and sirens, alarms and yelling continuing below as gunfire echoes and guards of the oil factory run towards them with their guns raised. Arthur's battalion of bullets takes them down quickly, each of them stopping their motorbikes in front of the railway line and the factory.

''Off the bikes!'' Charles shouts. ''We need to get to Eagle Flies!''

They reach the first circles of burnt grass, shooting the guards down before Arthur runs on the walkways through the flames, heavy boot falls behind him reminding him that he wasn't alone. Arthur reloads his gun and raises the barrel as Eagle Flies falls out of a building with a man on top of him, the biker firing. The shot throws the guard off and the young man looks up in bewilderment.

''Thank you-''

''Get up.'' Arthur growls. 

''Thank you,'' Eagle Flies repeats as the rest arrive. ''All of you.''

''We need to go.'' Charles tells him as Arthur regroups and does a head count.

''Where are my men? Where are my men?''

''We saw some fighting by the factory. That's where Dutch has gone!''

Arthur raises his pistol and fires towards the guards on the higher walkway, another swarm arriving on the tracks as they move past the small huts of homes towards the main center of the factory. The military comes in on the train, their group shooting them with no help from Dutch's who couldn't have been more than a few yards away. 

They climb over the train and are forced to dive once they reach the building, more gunshots singeing their hair and riddling the wall's beside them. Both Arthur and Dutch's men fire and shoot, regrouping in front of the building as the wave of soldiers dies down. 

''So good of you to join us.'' Dutch says as Arthur reaches his side, panting as adrenaline pushes the blood through his veins. Eagle Flies runs up behind them and takes cover with the two bikers. ''Hello, son.''

''Hey.''

''He save your life?''

''He did.''

''Well, you're quite the hero, Arthur. Ain't you?''

''Just a regular good guy, same as always.'' he responds. 

''What is it with you, Arthur? What is it?''

''I don't get you-'' he tells him truthfully. ''I don't get you no more.''

''Ah, the doubting.'' Dutch shakes his head as he reloads his pistol. ''The doubting. Come on!'' he points to Eagle Flies as he stands. ''Get him out of here! All of you!''

He pushes his guns into their holsters and pats Arthur on the shoulder.

''Come on.'' he tells him, securing the warm tone in his voice. ''Let's finish things.''

''Finish what?'' he asks and stands.

''The doubts... you know why I wanted them to attack this place?''

''I have no idea.'' he stomps across the wooden ground as Dutch laughs, ordering Javier to get Eagle Flies out of there with his men. 

''Until I find all my men, I'm not leaving.'' Eagle Flies argues.

''As you wish.'' Dutch says. ''Rest of you, get outta here and go!''

Charles stays with the chief's young son as Dutch shoots the lock open into the factory. 

''We're gettin' our ticket outta here.'' he says as Arthur stares. His boot kicks the door open and Arthur follows him inside, directing him to the office after having been there before. ''That's better, Arthur, a little help.''

He bites his tongue as he follows Dutch upstairs to the office, both turning the place upside down for  _the money_  the older man wanted with state bonds to be included. He goes over his plan, explaining that Cornwall had a plan to develop the region against the state government's wishes and that his bonds were still strong and worth lots. 

''-as they didn't want problems with the Indians.'' Dutch finishes.

''So, we get it and we're done? We're almost free?''

''Yes.  _If_  we're right. We've had tough times, the  _toughest_  of times, but come on.... don't doubt me no more.''

Dutch pulls a drawer open and he hears him laughing behind him, Arthur stopping and looking over his shoulder.

''I got 'em...'' he says in disbelief, smiling at the younger man. ''I got 'em... this is it! It's state bonds...''

''How much?''

''More than a few thousand dollars worth. Mr. Morgan, let's go home.''

Arthur let's it click in his mind as he follows Dutch downstairs, reaching the bottom floor and getting halfway across it before more guards burst in through the doors and begin firing. Dutch's pistol fires off the rounds and one of Arthur's bullet's hits the pipes, steam blasting into the men's faces so the older man could kill them too. 

They jog across the ground and Dutch reaches the door before steam breaks through the metal pipe into Arthur's face, causing him to fall backwards and begin coughing. He hears yelling and turns his head to see a guard running for him with a knife in his hands. His legs are straddled and he grips the other's wrists, straining.

''Dutch!'' he struggles. ''Dutch, I need help!''

He can barely see through the steam, but the door opens and Dutch's legs vanish outside. 

Three loud gunshots interrupt Arthur from dying, the man on top of him falling to the side and Arthur catching the handle of the knife before the blade could go through him by accident. A fourth follows, Eagle Flies gasping and stumbling back as Arthur grabs his pistol and aims for the attacker. 

A bullet hits Colonel Favors in the throat and his head whips to the side, body dropping on top of his men's as Arthur coughs and pushes himself to stand.

''You fool!'' he tells the young man, shoving his gun in his belt and pulling the other to stand. ''You goddamn fool!''

''You saved my life more than once...'' Eagle Flies argues as Arthur hooks his arm around his shoulders and carries him towards the exit. ''To give mine for yours, its as it should be!''

Arthur kicks the door open and helps him outside, raising angered eyes towards the group of men outside as Paytah runs to his friend and helps Arthur in carrying him down the steps. Charles and others quickly move to cover his wound, checking the overall damage it was causing in the short time they could still spend on the grounds while the army and the cops no doubt gathered reinforcements.

''We need to go.'' Dutch says as Arthur feels Eagle Flies blood sticking to his hand.

''You...'' he growls. ''You ran away!''

''I did no such thing! Don't be a fool. They could be back here any minute!'' Arthur listens to Eagle Flies pained grunts and the fire billowing on behind him as the young man is escorted to the car. ''We did it, gentlemen. We got the money. And with Colm's job, and San Francisco...  _whoo_ , we're set, son.''

He walks down the steps, stopping in front of Dutch.

''Well, we got  _a whole lot_  of money. Come on...'' the older man says. ''Everything has come together. Exactly as I planned.''

''I've got to take the boy to get some medical attention.'' he responds, stepping away.

''As you wish.'' Dutch says. ''Usually is, nowadays...''

''Sure...'' he mutters, opening the car door to get in. 

''We have got to get back to the clubhouse and prepare.'' Dutch announces. ''Let's ride.''

''I'll stay with you.'' Charles tells him.

''And me, of course.'' Paytah says. 

''And so will I.'' Sadie speaks confidently.

''No, get outta here, please.'' he begs of Sadie. ''This ain't gonna be nothin' nice.''

''Be safe, Arthur.'' she orders.

He hears Eagle Flies grunting in pain as Paytah climbs in the back with him. Charles gets into the front seat as Arthur revs the car away with his eyes and chest stinging. He replays the image of watching Dutch's feet walk out that door in his head as the mixed sounds of heavy breathing, pained talking, and worried noises form a song in his head.

''Hold on, my friend.'' Arthur tells him, glancing in the rear view mirror as he rushes the boy to the hospital.

''Our men...'' Eagle Flies says. ''We must go back for the bodies.''

''We will.'' Paytah says. ''Save your strength.''

''My friend, I'm sorry about this... all of this  _mess_.'''

''You have nothing to be sorry for.'' Paytah tells him.

''You know, Dutch... Dutch is... I guess my thinkin' is he used you. He wasn't tryin' to help anyone but himself and his own crazy principles.''

''We're grown men. Nobody made us do anything.''

''Maybe I'm talkin' for my people as much as for yours. We saw him turn crazy and... we couldn't believe it and followed him anyways. Things should have never have gone this far.''

''You've seen how the situation is on the reservation. Better to die fighting than sick and weak.''

''Maybe. But you... your people deserved better.'' the car grows quiet except for Eagle Flies' harsh breathing. ''You okay, Charles?''

''Not really.'' he admits from beside him. ''All this death, and for what? Just so we can have enough money to run away from what we've done?''

Arthur sighs, streetlights flashing over their heads.

''There used to be some... some reason to it. Lines that couldn't be crossed. We even helped some folk. Those lines have been gone for a long time now.''

''The time has come for us to draw our own lines, Arthur. Decide where we go from here.''

''I swear back there... Dutch just stood and  _watched_. If it weren't for Eagle Flies, I'd be-''

''I know! I feel like he's descended into the kind of man he taught us never to be.''

''Maybe he's just become more of who he really is. I don't know anymore... I just feel like a fool.''

''That money, those bonds, jewels, whatever it is... I don't want a cent. There's too much blood on it.''

Arthur checks the two young men in the back seat, Paytah gripping Eagle Flies' hand in worry as the other begins to slump against him.

''Your friend here... my friend...'' he speaks, catching his attention. ''He's a brave man.''

''Fearless.'' Paytah says. ''Always has been. This won't be in vain. We will try to round up more men, from the north, wherever we can. Many are ready to fight.''

''No!'' Charles states. ''This is over. For all of us.''

''Paytah...'' Eagle Flies whines. ''Paytah...''

''It's okay, brother. Save your breath. We are not too far now.''

Arthur cuts through the parking lot towards the emergency entrance of the hospital where Charles rushes inside to get who he could while the other two help Eagle Flies out the back of the car. There wasn't much of an excuse that they could give for a young twenty year old, shot and bleeding out. There wasn't much more of an excuse for them each to be covered in blood themselves other than it was Eagle Flies they were covered in. 

They're in the waiting room together later as Eagle Flies is having surgery done and Rains Fall comes inside. He looks to each of them and lets out a shallow breath before a nurse takes him and Paytah back to visit the young man.

Charles and Arthur sit in the waiting room together, Arthur not feeling it was right of him to disrupt the men and Charles refusing to allow him to suffer in his chair by himself. It isn't until later when Paytah emerges from the corridor and informs them that Eagle Flies was going to live, but would need serious rehabilitation due to the injuries inflicted on his back. 

He apologizes on behalf of Rains Fall, but thanks them as well.

The young man disappears again and leaves Arthur to stand in the waiting room with Charles at his side, both silent as the television on the wall plays re-runs and the phones distantly ring. He runs his hand down his face from his eyes, pulling down his eyelids as he sighs. 

''What are they... gonna do now?'' he asks, referring to the families on the reservations. 

''Some must move.'' Charles responds. ''And fast. I'll stay and help them.''

''I'll stay too.''

''No, my friend.'' he raises his eyes to Charles'. ''You have others who need you. Good people.''

Arthur swallows and nods, the other man's arms wrapping around his shoulders. He relaxes only for a moment into Charles' hug, wrapping his arms around him in response before they step back and give each other quiet goodbyes. 

The older man turns away with his hand begrudgingly sliding from Charles' arm, heading for the exit.


	43. Red Dead Redemption

Arthur cleans the blood off of himself and forces himself into sleep before going to the clubhouse the next morning. His spine aches and so do his legs. His lungs have been hurting for so long now that Arthur barely gives it a second thought, even as they hitch and strain. 

Dutch is cleaning his favored pistol when he arrives, muttering something about how everyone left and something about how Tilly and Micah were the only ones remaining. Arthur wanted to reach over and strangle him for comparing the girl to that ball of slime, but he keeps himself grounded and steeled to the floor as Dutch explains his plans to hit a train moving special jewels across the country for a showing in Oregon.

He remembers arguing some with Micah on the way there as they ride in formation to the train's location. Arthur can't give a rat's ass about his placement anymore; Micah just looked like the same obedient little mutt behind Dutch's vast bike as he did any other time. 

Getting on the train is a whole different story than Dutch's confident explanations. He, Sadie, and John are forced to jump onto it as the rest ride beside it in a fast paced race to see who could get the jewels first. Bill and Javier jump on too to aid them in finding the diamonds and varied jewels that Dutch _had to have_.

It costs them a few more lives, the men guarding it being shot unnecessarily so they could rip the safe's out. Or Bill rips the safes out. He rips them out and alarms begin going and soon they're in another firefight shooting for their lives that Arthur was getting real sick of but he couldn't let John or Sadie get caught up further in this.

Only, its too late.

''John!'' he screams, watching his brother get shot and drop off the train into the dirt. Dutch promises to turn around and get him, braking and disappearing around the side. 

Micah's man, Cleet, begins firing an overly powered gun and rips the FBI following them to shreds. They were doing a great job of lying low, destroying everything chasing them and downing helicopters in balls of flame. 

Bill promises to stop the train and Arthur orders him that he'd  _better **not**  stop the goddamn train_. 

They hop off the sides with their bags of diamonds and jewels, watching the train crash off the bridge he and John had blown up a few weeks before. 

''We're alive.'' Bill says.

''Yeah,'' Arthur states. ''Just about.''

''Well, let's move.''

He follows Bill with Sadie at his side, Cleet meandering with hefty bags in his arms as the rest of what remained of the gang growls up to them on their motorcycles, Dutch stopping with a sad look on his face.

''Where's John?'' he asks.

''I tried...'' Dutch tells him. ''I tried.''

''He didn't make it.'' Micah informs them as Arthur lowers the bag off of his shoulder, jacket gone and belt of grenades sitting proudly. ''That patrol of FBI killed him, we had to... run.''

Arthur narrows his eyes at him, resting the bag against his legs as Bill hoists his own stash onto the back of Dutch's bike and gets on his own. He thinks about what Charles told him that the natives had seen in Oregon, but he still can't be sure.

The dark blond hoists the bag back up on his shoulder with Sadie's help, both taking their bags to the bikes as half of Arthur's heart wants to begin mourning, and the other half wants to follow the railway line back to heart of a federal investigation just to pry open Micah's lies. 

-

Dutch motions for them to slow down once they get closer to the clubhouse, each one stopping as Tilly bursts from the trees on one of the weaker motorbikes Bill had been working on with small Jack in her lap.

''They took Abigail!'' She shouts, one hand gripping the handlebar and the other against Jack's chest to keep him secure as she stops in front of them. ''I saved Jack and we hid, but they took Abigail!''

''Who did?'' Arthur asks as the distraught girl presses the soles of her shoes into the asphalt to balance the motorcycle out.

''Agent Milton and his men took her to San Antonio to put her on a bus and be tried for murder!''

Arthur looks over his shoulder at Sadie quickly as Dutch speaks.

''I am sorry to hear that!'' 

''We gotta let her go.'' Micah says. ''John's a... well,'' he looks at Jack. ''Sorry, son. Without John, she's just bait.''

Arthur glances to the sad look crossing Jack's features as Dutch looks to him one last time as his red right hand, dark brown eyes searching momentarily while his mind wars with himself. Arthur stares in response at him, pleading silently for him to make the right choice. 

''We got a bunch of money, Dutch.'' Micah continues. ''She's just a girl, they won't do nothin' to her. But me and the boys know we need to keep ridin' on this one, Dutch. You know it, every man here knows it-''

''So we just gonna let the boy be made an orphan?'' Arthur asks the older man. 

''It-it ain't like that!'' Dutch waves him off in his frustration, the younger man staring desperately as Dutch continues silently fighting himself. 

''What is it like?!''

''I wanna live, cowpoke-'' Micah cuts in. ''I still got the choice.  _Dutch_ , it's just a girl.''

''You're right.'' 

'' _Dutch!_ '' Arthur quickly pushes off of his motorcycle, rushing to Dutch's side. 

''Micah...'' he raises his hand as Arthur grips one of the wide handlebars of The Count. ''It pains me to say it, Arthur, but he is right.''

''Dutch!'' he begs. 

''Come on, boys!''

They roar away, forcing Arthur to stumble back and watch as The Count's back lights grow smaller in the distance. He breathes in heavily and swallows as he looks to Sadie who's caught his motorbike before it fell on its side in his rush, eyes moving to Tilly and the very scared Jack as he coughs and spits. 

''Well I guess that's that then...'' he mutters, straightening his spine. ''All them goddamn years.''

''Come on, Arthur.'' Sadie says gently. ''Let's go get her. You and me is all we need.''

He nods, raising his hand to Tilly and Jack on the other bike.

''Miss Tilly,'' he grabs his bag of jewels off the back of his motorcycle and turns around to her, dropping it on her's instead. ''Take this.'' he pulls all of the cash out of his bag and from his pockets, handing them over to her. ''You take this money, too. Take Jack and wait at  _Datil_  for Abigail and Mrs. Adler.''

''Thank you, Arthur.'' Tilly takes the cash and pushes it in between her and young Jack. 

''You're a good girl. You live a good life now, you hear?''

''Alright, Arthur. I'll... I'll miss-''

''Me too, sweetheart.'' he gives a small smile as comfort. ''Me too.''

He takes Jack's hands gently, small face peering up at him while Arthur sinks down to his level. 

''Be brave, son.'' he tells him. ''I'm gonna go get your momma.''

Jack nods, too sad and too scared to speak as Arthur's large hands let go of his own small ones and he steps back to his motorcycle. 

''Mrs. Adler...'' he swings his leg over the side, gripping the handlebars. ''Ride with me!''

They roar away, Arthur refusing to look back as Sadie begins telling him the best way of grabbing Abigail and getting out of there. He nods along, barely paying attention or clinging onto any of her words as the rage in his chest grows along with the pain.

''Those goddamn bastards...'' he says. 

''Look, just follow me, okay? We're gonna get this done, Arthur.''

''Now he don't care if he orphan's his friend's child as long as he gets rich?'' Arthur speaks aloud but he's talking to himself. ''All his goddamn talk all them years. Seems like it was always a lie. Or he went crazy... what a mess.''

''Sure. Guess he began to believe he was God, or something.''

_He's begun to equate money with power._

''I don't know...'' Arthur pushes Hosea's voice out of his head. ''I'm sorry you got dragged into this... into... us.''

''Listen, if you hadn't shown up at my house that night, I'd be dead. And even this bullshit beats dead.''

''I thought I could find a way to get John, Abigail, and Jack outta this mess. To give them... a life. Seems I left it too late...''

''If we can still get Abigail, maybe her and Jack will be okay.''

''John, Mac, Davey, Jenny... they almost got Sean and Lenny, and they're holdin' Hosea... we  _have_  to put an end to this.'' Arthur interrupts himself to cough before sucking it in. ''And Eagle Flies, another angry fool he used, just like he did the rest of us.''

''Like I said, Arthur, we don't need them. We're gonna make this right, me and you together, what's left of it. Now come on!''

They stop their motorcycles down the road outside of San Antonio in the abandoned streets of the city where federal agents mulled about with their guns in their hands and light conversation moving between them. Sadie looks around for good vantage points as she puts a plan together in her head, Arthur hacking again. 

''How you feelin'?'' she asks him.

''I'm okay.'' he responds, feeling the adrenaline starting to kick in once more, eyes staring at the agents down the road. Sadie brings the sniper she stole from the O'Driscoll's up on her shoulder. 

''I think you should cover me and I'll go in there and get her.'' Arthur looks to her, eyebrows furrowing as he glances at the gun being held out to him as he steps back. ''Cause you're the better shot, I mean.'' 

''That ain't what you mean.'' he growls. ''I can still fight!''

''I know, Arthur.'' she answers and drops her arms. ''But just-do it my way, honey. It's for the best. Just get up somewhere high, like those building's, and cover me.  _Please_.''

Arthur stares at the gun before snatching it out of her grip, motioning for her to carry on with her side of the plan. He heads for the fire escape on the side of the building as Sadie jogs towards the agents, using the garbage bin as leverage to hoist himself on and climb up to the top. He follows the stairs to the roof and crouches, positioning the gun and getting Sadie in his sights as she runs to get cover behind a building.

He takes the first shot, watching an agent's skull explode before he turns the gun to the man standing beside him, shooting him too. It's an all out war and Sadie gets halfway down the street before she yells for him to get his ass down there and help. Arthur kills three more before sliding back down the fire escape and stumbling onto the ground, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and pulling his pistol from his belt. 

Morgan's boots echo against the asphalt as he runs and fires, covering Sadie before she pushes him to hide behind a minivan parked on the side of the road. A bullet shatters the rear view mirror on the side while Sadie fires her gun off and pushes on, Arthur following. He can feel his lungs strain again but he ignores it, watching her split off towards the last building at the end of the street where a large amount of agents were guarding it. 

He helps her shoot them, watching as she kicks the door of the place in and suddenly vanishes inside the doorway. Instead of Mrs. Adler stepping out with Abigail, another detective steps out with Sadie's gun in one hand and their own in the other, aiming for Arthur. He shoots and watches the personal gun fly from a shattered hand before he shoots him again in the knee and watches the man fall to the ground. 

Arthur continues firing at the oncoming agents until he's left on his own running to the building Sadie had disappeared into in a hurry. He shoots the two men inside the convenience store before he pushes his gun into his belt and grabs his knife, finding Sadie trying to wriggle out of her binds on the floor while Abigail sits strapped to a chair with zip-ties holding her wrists and ankles down.

''Alright, ladies,'' he says, beginning to saw at Abigail's restraints. ''Let's get outta here.''

A gun cocks behind him and Arthur freezes, Abigail's eyes landing on him before she shifts back in her chair and looks over her shoulder at the figure with the gun. 

''Calm down, Mr. Morgan.'' Milton says, short steps coming closer. He coughs some as he straightens his back, raising his arms so his hands could be seen and leaving his knife with Abigail. ''That's quite a cough...''

''Sure.'' Arthur responds and turns around slowly with his hands still raised in the air. ''Lung cancer. I'll be dead soon. And you with me, Mr. Milton.''

''You'll be dead, sure. But I'm gonna be just fine.'' Arthur begins to double over as his coughing increases. ''We offered you a deal, Mr. Morgan. You should have taken it.''

He spits onto the fake linoleum floor and lifts his head to the detective.

''I'm a fool, Mr. Milton.''

''Not all you boys have quite so many scruples. Like Micah Bell.''

''Micah? You mean Molly?''

''Molly O'Shea? We sweated her a couple of times, never talked a word, we had to let her go. Micah Bell... we picked him up after your vacation in Ecuador off the coast of California and he's been a good boy ever since. I can't say the same for your Hosea, though. I'm not sure why Dutch kept the old man around- he does a lot of talking but nothing beneficial ever comes out of his mouth.''

Arthur wheezes, bending over again as he tries to force a response out before jumping at Milton and grabbing his wrists for the gun. They shuffle, he and Milton grunting until Milton slams him agains the wall and tries pushing the barrel of the gun down into Arthur's face. 

''You're losing your strength, Mr. Morgan.'' Milton notices as the gun lowers to his nose far faster than it would have a little less than a year ago. 

''You're still a yappin' dog, Mr. Milton.'' Arthur wheezes, watching and struggling as the end of the barrel grows closer to his hair line and points to his forehead. It comes to the center of his face before a gunshot rings out and blood sprays across his cheek, Milton dropping to the side and his gun falling to the ground. 

Arthur follows it, slumping against the doorway and gasping for air as he lifts his eyes to Abigail. She stands with his pistol gripped in her palms, still holding it up in the position she had shot it as her eyes glare angrily to the dead detective's body. 

''Horrible man.'' she manages, stepping away and lowering the gun to cut Sadie free. He feels his head spin as he gasps, listening to the zip-ties being sawn through before Abigail stands in front of him again holding his pistol and his knife to him. ''Now come on, both of ya.''

He takes his weapons back from her, accepting her outstretched hand to help him stand. Arthur follows them outside, watching Sadie shoot at the groups of oncoming agents before he has the chance to even reach for his gun. They take the road back to their bikes where Arthur hands Abigail his helmet and Sadie makes sure she's comfortable on Arthur's broad bike. 

He climbs on the back of Mrs. Adler's, his head still spinning from lack of oxygen as she starts the engine and lets Abigail lead the way back to camp. Arthur slumps against Sadie's back, suffering to force air into his lungs on the long ride back.

''The bastards grabbed me outside the compound.'' she says, lowering her fingers from the helmet clip. ''I was with Tilly and Jack... it happened so fast, I couldn't do anything.''

''It's alright.'' Sadie informs her. ''Tilly and Jack are both safe.''

Arthur forces them to stop, trying and failing to convince them he was fine before he slides off the back of Sadie's motorcycle.

''Arthur, there's no time.''

''There's time.'' he promises, turning to Abigail to help her off his bike.

''Where's John?'' she asks. ''What happened to John?''

''I-I don't...'' he begins. ''I think...'' he reaches for her again and Abigail allows him to pick her off the seat and turn towards the back of Sadie's motorbike. 

Sadie stands as Arthur glances to her, stumbling over his words again.

''Arthur...'' Abigail begins.

''He...''

''What?''

''He got killed or captured.'' he informs her, Abigail's face instantly contorting to pain as Sadie wraps her arms around her and holds her with a knowing pain in her eyes.

''No...''

''I'm real sorry, Abigail.''

''No...''

''I was on the train and I didn't see it.'' She weeps, tears falling from her eyes as Sadie does what she can to soothe the other woman. ''Listen... we got Jack, he's safe. Mrs. Adler will take you to him.'' Sadie nods, pressing her lips together as her own tears threaten to sprout from her eyes. ''John... I want you to know this. He  _loved_  you. He loved you and Jack he did. He wasn't perfect, but he did.''

Arthur steps back, taking Sadie's arm to to guide them back to her motorcycle.

''Now, you gotta go get that boy. Go on, get outta here.''

''Arthur, what are you doin'?'' Sadie asks, swinging her leg over her motorcycle while Arthur helps Abigail to follow.

''I gotta go have a little chat before I get much sicker.''

''Oh, Arthur!'' Abigail sobs again and he huffs, only wanting her to get away to safety. 

''Don't you 'oh Arthur' me.'' he scolds her, helping her onto the back of the motorcycle. ''Neither of you two, not now. You both know... you're good women, good people. The best... you go get that boy, there'll be time for sorrow later.''

''If you're headed back there, Arthur,'' Abigail says, reaching into her pocket and brandishing a key before handing it over. ''Dutch's chest is behind the power tools in the garage.''

''Abigail Roberts...'' Arthur breathes, staring at it in his grip before raising his stunned eyes to her. She takes his hand gently, Sadie looking over her shoulder at them both.

''I always was a good thief.'' she tells him, tears falling from her eyes on to the back of his hand. 

''That you was...'' he tells her, gripping her fingers before forcing himself to pull his hand away. ''Go on, get outta here.''

Arthur turns away and climbs onto the back of his own motorcycle, not lifting his head until he hears Sadie's bike growling far down the road. He lifts his hand to his chest, ignoring the searing pain and dry ache to press against the locket resting against his skin. He runs his fingers over it, eyes staring forth in a hard gaze before he clenches his jaw and reaches for the handlebar, revving the bike and pulling away. 

Remembering his times with the gang as he rides on, Arthur think back to when he first met Dutch and Hosea, an angry teenager being forced to take care of his dying mother while his father disappeared somewhere into Canada to hide from his mistakes as a human being.

They gave him purpose, and wisdom, and money to pay for his mother's cancer treatment even when they didn't have enough for themselves.

John was there, a young teen as Arthur said goodbye to his mother and held her hand as her grip grew limp and the locket burned between their palms. Hosea was there to console him when he got back to the small building they used as their clubhouse, helping him put the locket on after he poured his tears out.

He thinks of Isaac, his son, who died too young and too horribly with his mother in the awful car accident on the mountain road coming home from trick-or-treating. He remembers hearing Jack's first cries with a bewildered John trying to grasp the concept he was now officially a father. 

It goes on to him accepting the newer members of the gang as his younger siblings, except Uncle, who hung around a lot and got fed the scraps.

He thinks of the first time they as a group celebrated something, eating too much and getting drunk in their first proper clubhouse after a successful job, happily yelling and shouting with laughter and music. Dancing, and Javier strumming his guitar with everyone more than happy to listen. 

But that was a memory. 

And this... this he had to face.

He pulls the motorcycle up further down the road and steps off, following the sidewalk back to the compound where it's mainly empty except for Micah yelling orders at Miss Grimshaw, his voice cutting through the air and twisting Arthur's gut.

''-we ain't got long.'' Micah states. ''Hurry.''

''We just got plenty of time, Micah.'' Arthur states, stopping in his tracks in the middle of the parking lot as Miss Grimshaw gasps lightly and moves her hands from pushing bags into the back of the gang truck. ''We  _all_  need to have a little chat.''

''Black Lung, you're back,  _hooray_.''

Dutch steps out of the clubhouse, approaching them as Bill continues cleaning the guns in the corner. 

''I just saw Agent Milton, Dutch.'' he announces, the older man staring at him. ''Abigail shot 'im. She's okay... not that you care too much about that.'' his eyes glare at Micah and his snakes now gripping their guns. ''You  _rats_. All of ya. Seems old Micah was pretty close with Milton.''

''What the hell are you talkin' about, cowpoke?'' Micah questions. 

'' _You talked_.''

''That's a goddamn lie.''

''Dutch-'' Arthur begins.

''Dutch... think of the future.''

''Milton told me.'' he tells the gang leader, looking to him to see desperate eyes staring at them as his head begins to war with him again. ''Hosea's alive, Dutch.''

''And you believe him, Black Lung? You believe him?''

''It  _all_  makes sense now.''

''No...'' Micah says. ''It damn well doesn't...''

Arthur pulls his pistol up and aims it at Micah, the other raising his own suddenly in response and causing his belt of grenades to be revealed. The men on either side of him join him at aiming their gun barrels at him. 

''Dutch...'' Arthur begins, seeing Bill freezing in the corner with the gun gripped in his hands. ''Think!''

''Dutch...'' Micah's pretentious voice cuts in. '' _Be_  practical now.''

''Dutch!'' 

It's John, gripping his shoulder and dragging himself towards the group as blood seeps through his fingers.

''John?!'' Bill shouts.

''You left me...'' he limps closer. ''You left me to die!''

''My boy...'' Dutch finally speaks, stepping closer with his hands out in desperation. ''I didn't have a choice... John, I didn't...''

''You...''

''I didn't have a choice.''

'' _Left me!_ ''

''All of you-'' Arthur pulls Dutch's attention back to him.''-pick your side now because this is over.  _All_  them years, Dutch... for this snake!?''

''Oh, be quiet, cowpoke.'' Micah laughs. ''Be quiet. You live in the clouds.''

''No.  _You_  be quiet, Mr. Bell.'' Miss Grimshaw raises her shotgun up in her hands, standing at Arthur's shoulder. ''And put down your gun.''

Javier runs into the middle of it, panting. 

''There's feds coming, and fast!''

The split second that Grimshaw pulls her attention away, Micah fires and shoots her in the stomach. Arthur can't move his eyes from him to watch her cry out and writhe on the ground in pain. Javier slowly takes a step backwards in confusion. 

''Now!'' Dutch shouts, raising his pistols towards both Arthur and Micah, slowly moving between the two with his head on a swivel. ''Who amongst you... is with me and who, is  _betrayin' me_?!''

John comes to Arthur's side, the rest near Micah staying where they were while Javier continues to step away. 

''Bill,'' Arthur says. ''Javier... think,  _think_  for yourselves!''

Micah shuffles closer to Dutch's side as the oldest man raises his guns towards John and Arthur, his sons, his face unmoving but his eyes still showing the war continuing in his mind. 

'' _He's lying_.'' Micah hisses. ''He's lying!''

''Put your guns down!'' it's a microphone coming from somewhere in front of them, a bullet shattering the glass of the clubhouse behind John and Arthur. They both duck, Arthur grabbing the younger man and dragging him through the doorway inside to cover. 

There's a hole in the tile where the bullet landed, John directing Arthur to the back door for them to escape through as further bullets rain inside and cause a flurry of papers and money to explode around them. 

''Shit!'' Arthur shouts, John gripping his wrist as he fires behind them. ''Micah was the rat, John. Milton told me.''

''We shoulda killed him months ago.'' the other responds, Arthur locking the door behind them as he stops to catch his breath. ''Are you alright, Arthur?''

''I'm with ya...'' he promises, coughing and standing straight.

They continue running, slamming open the back door and jumping onto Arthur's motorcycle before he roars away. 

''Abigail...'' he begins. ''Abigail's safe, so's Jack.''

''Where are they?''

''They're with Sadie in  _Datil_.''

John grips his shoulders. 

''Thank you, brother.''

Arthur looks up and sees a helicopter flying towards the compound before he speaks again.

''I want you... to not look back.'' he tells the younger man, eyes on the chopper as it whirs overhead towards the gunfire erupting behind them. ''Like I said.''

Sirens behind them forces Arthur eyes to check his small rear view mirrors before he presses on the gas and gets them out of there. He takes them vaguely towards  _Datil_ , at least trying to get on the interstate but roadblocks stop him and force him to steer around, taking the mountainous off-roads for John's safety. 

Another helicopter whirs overhead and a bullet sounds, the front tire of his motorcycle exploding and throwing them both off into the dirt. Arthur rolls painfully, seeing John rolling and sliding to a halt before the younger man scrambles to grab him and drag him up. Marston grip his wrist, dragging him from their accident into the crevasses in the mountain where the helicopter hopefully wouldn't be able to see them, at least for some time.

Arthur stumbles after him, coughing and hacking as he hears car engines and shouting from behind. 

The shouting continues as he's spotted staggering after the younger man, John still dragging him with him. Arthur pulls his gun from his belt and fires as his brother pulls him up the inclined mountainside. 

Arthur shoves them both against the canyon wall and stops to breathe, John gasping beside him, equally desperate for air. 

''The money's still back there.'' Arthur tells him. ''Abigail gave me the key.''

''I go back, I'm dead in five minutes.'' John answers, chest heaving. ''I got a family, that's more important. You can go get it, but I  _need_  to get to my family.''

Arthur pants, staring at him before he nods and adjusts the locket around his neck.

''I'm comin' with you.'' he tells him. ''I'm gonna get you outta this bullshit, if its the last goddamn thing I do.''

He and John continue climbing up the mountainside, John gripping his shoulder where the bullet wound was still fresh and hurting him. Arthur climbs behind him, dirt from their crash landing after the tire being blown out pasted across his white t-shirt and the backpack over his shoulders. 

Arthur can hear the federal agents closing in on them but he doesn't say anything- he keeps running and climbing, feeling both his lungs and his calves screaming at him. They slowly grow higher to the top, Arthur slowing to look over his shoulder to see an agent from the bureau lifting a large sighted gun up to both of them. 

His arms wrap around John's waist as he shoves him to safety, the bullet hitting and splitting the rock beside them instead. John scrambles backwards, pointing to the continuation of the trail that could be their wait out while Arthur simply crouches and coughs harshly. He stands and looks over his shoulder, behind cover as another bullet hits the rocks beside him in the sniper's hope of hitting Arthur, his coughing and hacking continuing to wrack his lungs.

''Arthur!'' John shouts. ''Come on!''

''No...'' he says, bringing up a large ball of blood and mucus into his palm that he wipes off on the side of his jeans and turns to John. ''I think I've pushed all I can...''

''Come on...''

''You go.''

''We ain't got time for this, not now.''

Arthur grins, reaching behind his neck to unclip his locket and step closer to the younger man. John's eyes stare at him as he clips it around the other's throat and sighs as he steps back, admiring the silver piece one last time as he clasps his hand over the other's shoulder and presses the tip of his finger into the locket resting over John's heart. 

''We ain't both gonna make it.'' he tells him. ''Go. Now. I'll hold 'em off.... it would mean a lot to me.  _Please_.''

He steps back and shrugs his bag off of his shoulders, draping it over John's instead.

''There ain't no more time for talk.'' he says as John's fingers clasp the locket tightly. ''Go.''

Morgan steps away, peering up at the incline of the rock he had yet to climb as John argues desperately behind him.

''Arthur...'' 

''Go to your family.'' he points him to the trail with the barrel of the gun. 

''Arthur!''

''Get the hell outta here and be a goddamn man!'' he orders, eyes looking back at John's to see the scared teen he'd met years ago in his face staring back. A shaky breath leaves him as Arthur begins to step up on the rock, pistol held tightly in his grip.

''You're my brother...''

He catches himself from falling, looking back at John as he nods.

''I know...'' he says. ''I know.''

Arthur continues up the rock as John jogs past him, hissing in pain from his wound as he aims his pistol towards the sight of the sniper rifle and fires, watching the glass and the metal explode as the investigator falls back.

He hides behind cover as more shots hit the dirt and rocks behind him, destroying a flower in the process before he peers around and shoots again. There are three advancing on him from his height, guns in their hands and eyes searching in the dark desperately as the helicopter spotlight washes over the canyon beside Arthur.

He aims and fires, shooting two of them and clipping the other before firing once again and watching the man fall backwards with the impact. Arthur pulls the magazine out to reload once he's out of bullets as heavy footsteps suddenly faze into his hearing.

Morgan raises his eyes and sees Micah's crazed, weasel face before he's tackled to the rocky ground and his gun is lost somewhere in the canyon below. He and Micah roll, hitting every rock, stick, and protruding edge possible before they slide to a stop. 

''I got you now, Black Lung!'' he shouts.

''You rat!'' Arthur spits. ''You rat!''

''I'm a-'' his fist connects with Arthur's jaw.''-survivor, Black Lung! A survivor! That's all there is! Livin'-and dyin'!''

Arthur grips him by the throat and throws him off, both rolling off the side. He's suspended in air for a split second before the ground knocks the wind out of him and also slows Micah, the older man gasping and feeling a pain erupt in the middle of his back before writhing and reaching for the large stone beside his head.

Micah's boot stomps his hand and Arthur yells, lifting his forearms to block the sole going into his nose instead as he kicks his own foot into Micah's knee. The other man stumbles back and Arthur forces himself to stand, shaking the pain in his cheek out as he lifts his fists.

The other laughs and swings, Arthur blocking it with his elbow and bringing his own knuckles up before Micah's hit his stomach and causes him to double over. Arthur wheezes, stepping back and grabbing Micah's foot as it tries to come up into his face, throwing him back and standing straight again. 

''You weak fool.'' Micah laughs again while stepping closer, Arthur stumbling with his fists still raised. 

''Can't you see I've won?'' Arthur asks, stepping back as Micah brings his fist forward before leaning closer to hit the other. Micah smacks his arm away and lands his knuckles into Arthur's eye, his head whipping to the side as the end of the other's boot connects with his hip. 

Micah grabs him by the jaw and throws him up against the rock, kneeing him in the stomach.

''You've lost.'' he spits.

Arthur only breathes out a laugh, Micah stepping closer.

''Die!'' he growls, arms swinging forward again. Arthur blocks his hit and brings his head forward, hearing and feeling it connect with the other's teeth. Micah grunts and kicks Arthur in the stomach, both stumbling back several feet as Arthur falls to the pebbles.

Micah spits blood from his mouth as Arthur drags himself to stand, Micah spitting one of his teeth out of his mouth on the ground.

''Still got a little fight left in ya, have you,  _boy_?'' Micah asks, stomping forward and grabbing Arthur by the throat to slam him against the rocks again.

Arthur struggles, gripping Micah's wrists and squeezing them before he kicks his foot up, aiming for the other's crotch. He gets Micah's thigh, knocking his leg out from under him and feeling his hands let go from around his throat. 

He gets thrown to the ground, Micah gripping him by the shirt and repeatedly punching him in the eye and the cheek as Arthur struggles to block him. He punches Micah harshly in the side of the knee, the other falling back and allowing Morgan to roll away, dragging himself. 

''All there is...'' Micah says from behind him. ''...is winnin'... and losin'.''

Arthur grabs the pistol on the ground as fingers grip the back of his head by his hair and drag him to stand, slamming his face into the rock. He turns, connecting the butt of the gun with Micah's mouth before both drop to the ground. The gun flies from his grip and ends up some feet behind him, Arthur's tired eyes trying to search for it as his head spins and tries to focus through the throbbing pain in his skull. He struggles to breathe as he rolls over on his stomach and begins crawling towards the gun.

''Oh, Black Lung,'' Micah decides to speak from behind him. ''You ain't gonna reach that gun. You ain't.''

Arthur continues crawling for it anyways.

''You lost, my sick friend. You lost.''

He gasps for air, dragging himself over the rocks and the dirt towards the pistol.

''In the end, Micah...'' he breathes. ''...despite my best efforts to the contrary... it turns out I've won... goddamn you.''

Arthur wraps his fingers around the barrel and a black boot steps on his fingers, Morgan crying out. His eyes follow the boot up the black pant leg towards the hanging leather jacket and red v-neck shirt hanging on Dutch's chest.

''It is over, now, Arthur...'' Dutch announces, folded red sunglasses sticking out of his breast pocket. '' _It's over_.''

''Oh, Dutch...'' Arthur pleads through strained breaths. ''He's a rat.'' Dutch's eyebrows knit in guilt. Dutch's eyes pull away, not able to face the sight of Arthur beaten under his feet. ''You know it and I know it. 

''He's sick.'' Micah spews. ''He's dyin', he's... talkin' crazy.''

He can hear detectives yelling once they're spotted, Dutch's eyes turning towards the direction of the noise.

''I-I gave you all I had.'' Arthur wheezes, Dutch staring back down at him. ''I did.''

The oldest man opens his mouth to speak, eyes softening.

''I...'' he begins, voice breaking and foot coming off of Arthur's fingers. His boot slides back in the dirt as Arthur's strength leaves him, only able to roll himself on his back to stare at the stars. ''I...''

''Come on.'' he hears Micah whine. ''Dutch... let's go, buddy.''

He hears Dutch's boots scrape further back, away from Micah as he prepares himself to run away from all the mayhem he caused once again.

''We got the money, Dutch.'' Micah continues. ''We can go! We can disappear like you wanted to!''

Three footsteps back. And then the dirt and rocks grind under Dutch's heavy boots and they stomp away. 

Arthur gasps to pull air into his lungs, his hand hanging off the side of the cliff face as Micah lets out a frustrated noise, growling and grumbling before he comes to Arthur's side, bloodied face peering down at him. 

''You know, Black Lung,'' he says, lifting his knife and allowing it to glint in the moonlight. ''We coulda made a great team.''

He narrows his eyes at Micah as he leans down, kicking him in the knee as he brings his knife up to sink into Arthur's chest. The older man sits forward and shoves Micah weakly, forcing him a foot closer to the edge of the cliff and gripping his belt as Micah laughs and grabs him by the hair.

''You really think that'd work, Black Lung?'' Micah asks, shoving Arthur back against the dirt. The older man lunges again and grabs at him, Bell stepping back and ripping Arthur back by his hair.

Arthur rolls onto his stomach, hands under his chest until he begins laughing into the dirt, smiling. 

''What?'' Micah asks. ''What's so funny, Morgan?"

Micah grabs him by the shoulder like Arthur thought he would, rolling him over so Arthur can laugh in his face once he notices the six familiar rings of silver that had once been connected to the grenades on his belt. Arthur lifts his hands and jingles the pins together, meeting Micah's surprised eyes.

''Hey Micah,'' he tells him, smile disappearing some from his face. '' _ **Fuck you**_.''

The soles of Arthur's boots hit Micah in the sternum, shoving him off of the cliff face. Arthur drops his hands at his sides and lets the grenade pins slide off of his fingers as the massive explosion sounds from below, his eyes shutting tiredly and smile spreading back over his face while  _something_   rains down on the dirt. 

He abandons the grenade pins in the dirt as he opens his eyes and drags himself towards the edge of the cliff where bits of Micah were still falling, looking down and nodding to himself at the mess below before he crawls to part of the cliff Dutch had escaped through.

His lungs still burn and they still hurt as he leans back against he rock and gasps for air. The breathing slowly evens out, Arthur breathing in deeply as the light began spread across the valley.

Arthur Morgan breathes out one long, final time as his eyes watch the raising morning sun.  


	44. Epilogue

It's been some years since the fall of the Van Der Linde gang, almost a full decade since it cracked and rotted into nothing. 

John Marston was picked up by state marshal's and federal agents a short time after successfully buying land in the higher reaches of Texas, building a home for his family with Charles and Uncle's help after he stumbled across both men. He finds out that Hosea Matthews was indeed alive after the construction of his home is finished and the federal agents interrogate him in the back of a car somewhere deep into the desert where they couldn't possibly be bothered. 

In exchange to keep his family's freedom and his own life, John agrees to hunt after the remaining three of the Van Der Linde gang; Bill Williamson, Javier Escuella, and the leader himself, Dutch. 

Bill was as angry as ever if not burning on by fear while Javier was sneakier and more sly than John had ever seen.

Dutch was... senseless and out of sound mind. 

It was odd to think that this borderline psychotic man killing senselessly in a rush to escape was the same man who had taught John better morals than his parents even attempted when he was younger and growing up. 

Dutch had tossed his gun off of the rooftop of a high building, wind billowing around them as he gave one of his famous speeches before falling backwards with a look of peace in his eyes. 

The rage in his face when the firemen and officer below caught him in their wide net was one John didn't know Dutch was capable of, staring as they injected him with something and cuffed his unconscious and drooling body on the asphalt. 

John got back to Marble Falls, Texas a few weeks afterwards, his son and wife gripping him with grateful tears as Hosea was dumped on their doorstep by the same agents who had enlisted John to work for them. Hosea was very quiet for the first few months as he adjusted to a relatively normal life away from the gang he had worked so hard to help form and came to the realization that the Dutch he knew no longer existed and only what was left behind was the shell of his former self.

He asked Hosea to forgive him for what he may have done when he believed Hosea was still dead, and for the older man to forgive himself. 

The air between them broke and Hosea described the insufferable pain he endured in the time he spent in custody, explaining that every time they took a wrong turn, every time someone got shot by one of the gang members, he was told. 

He knew everything, all the way up to Arthur's death. 

They build Hosea a smaller home on one of the further reaches of the property where he can have some sense of independence back but wouldn't have to do everything by himself, Hosea making it his own and having the capability to reach out to his old love, Bessie. 

Its months later, one of the quiet days where John had finished his ranching work for the most part and was relaxing on the couch when Hosea knocked on the door and recommended they go and get something for dinner before Abigail got the bright idea to try and cook. 

John announces to his family that they were going out to grab dinner and leaves them, riding passenger to Hosea on the way to the restaurant he wanted to order from. 

The younger man stares out the window into the parking lot, low neon lights above his head flashing as his eyes take in the cracks in the cement, barely hearing Hosea's voice speaking to one of the employees over the screaming of his own thoughts as his fingers barely trace the engraving on Arthur's locket still sitting around his neck a decade later. 

Hosea's hand on his shoulder is what snaps him out of it, brings him back into reality and with it brings a wave of comfort that he didn't know he needed so desperately. But that was what Hosea always did best.

John rests their meals in his lap on the drive back, Hosea nodding off in a traffic jam that lasts for a good hour which forces John to warn his family that he wouldn't be getting back for a while and to go ahead and eat something small before they got there. John is halfway through his meal when the cars start pulling away and he has to shake Hosea awake from beside him.

When they pull into the long driveway leading up towards the ranch, both of them squint towards the small headlights on the opposing side, John looking to the phone in his hand when a message comes in from his son warning them of a visitor that had pulled up in front of the house. 

Hosea slows the truck some feet away from the dark car and points to the glovebox. 

''Open that.'' he orders. John turns his phone off and leans forward slowly, unclasping the compartment and rifling through it before he finds Hosea's small pistol and hands it over to the other carefully. 

Hosea opens the driver's door and slowly steps out, turning the safety of his gun off as the sole of his shoe presses against the dirt and John steps out with him. He keeps the gun hidden behind his back as he presses his shoulder against the driver's side door, John using the step on the side of the truck to stand and stare towards the car. 

The bright headlights shine towards the vehicle, reflecting heavily on it and blinding whoever the driver or owner was. 

''Are you lost, sir?'' Hosea asks, still keeping his friendly tone but only with a slight cold edge as he tightens his grip around the handle of his gun. 

John tightens his fingers around the corner of his door as hands slowly raise from the driver's side of the car, a figure stepping up from the vehicle and turning carefully, arms still raised high and hands showing that they were unarmed.

Arthur faces them and squints against the light, John feeling his heart freeze and his train of thought break immediately. He looks... healthy. Healthier than he'd last seen him, at least. His beard has more blotches of grey than his natural color, and his hair is beginning to lose that same shade. The sullen look in his eye sockets are gone and instead he looks like he can breathe again. 

He slowly lowers his hands as John drops off the side of the truck and rushes towards him, Arthur stepping around the hood of the car only to be grasped tightly and tackled into the side of the car by his brother. 

John clenches his eyes shut and grips Arthur, feeling the same loving and grateful hug wrap around him in return by strong arms that had kept him safe on a multitude of occasions and kept him covered during gunfights and explosions. Arthur presses his cheek into the side of John's head and relaxes against the door of the car as a second pair of arms wrap over them both,  _Hosea_ , and Arthur moves one arm to grip him too. 

He's not sure quite how long they stand there, gripping each other, but when he finally finds the strength to step back and properly look up at Arthur, he finds he's been crying. Sobbing, really, and Arthur's shirt has suffered the after-effects of his breakdown. But Arthur looks to have shed a few tears too, shining eyes running over each person standing around him.

John never lets go of the back of Arthur's shirt as the older man greets and hugs the rest of the small family, even Uncle. 

Abigail cries almost as much into the older man's shirt and makes a second stain into his opposite shoulder from which Arthur soothes her and holds her close, treating her as the younger sister he'd always seen her as since she'd joined the gang and had Jack. 

Jack. 

Jack seems bewildered, having small or short memories of the gang and most of all Arthur. He remembers some things, but had always wished to remember more before the older man died. John had sat with him once late at night when neither of them could sleep and listened to his story of his last memory of Arthur where he sat perched on Tilly's bike and watched him say goodbye, for what he thought would be the last time. 

And John truthfully told him every part of his last memory of Arthur too, giving him answers when questions came and explaining who and what Arthur was in those final moments John saw him.

The man Arthur had always wanted to be, but never had the chance. 

''Whoa...'' Arthur turns his head to Jack, his eyes widened and small smile still gracing his lips that upturn further as his eyes take in how much Jack had grown in more than a decade. ''Look at you.''

Jack's features shift into an expression of confidence as he raises his chin, smiling at his uncle as the older man slips his arm off of Abigail's waist and lifts his hand to Jack's shoulder, squeezing it and smiling at him.

''You were more than half that size last time I saw ya.'' he says. 

The youngest smiles and accepts a warm hug from Arthur who envelops him completely. Jack disappears into Arthur, only his arms sticking out and trying to wrap under Arthur's strong shoulders.

''Where the hell have you been?!'' Uncle asks. 

Arthur pulls away some from Jack and raises his hand to ruffle the younger boy's hair like he used to do often when Jack was only little. 

''I been playin' dead.'' he answers. Jack steps back and shakes Arthur's hand from his hair but he's still smiling. His eyes raise to the adults in front of him, glancing to John who even still now has barely got the strength to let go of the older man as if he was going to disappear again if he did. ''But I'm here now.''

John and Arthur sling their arms over the other's shoulders as they walk into the home, followed by the rest. Arthur makes sure to compliment the house as Hosea moves around them to sit on the couch and motion for the younger man to sit with him. Arthur gets sandwiched between his brother and the man he had the respect to call his father, Abigail sitting in the chair on the left and Uncle the one to the right as Jack takes a place in front of the coffee table across from them. 

There's  _a lot_  of talking, hours worth, and John only realizes what time it is when Jack begins yawning. Abigail reminds her son of what time it was and Jack groans when the topic of his schooling comes to. 

''But Arthur-'' Jack begins.

''We'll catch up proper later.'' Arthur promises. ''I'll pick you up from school, or somethin'. If that's allowed...''

His eyes reach the parents and they share a glance before nodding, Jack standing slowly and giving his goodnights, Arthur getting one more hair ruffle in before the teen turns away and heads off to bed. Uncle follows and Abigail is almost falling asleep in her chair more than an hour later when she decides she would be better off sleeping too. 

The three remaining members of the Van Der Linde gang sit quietly on the couch together before John stands and gets them drinks, Arthur and Hosea talking quietly between each other and listening deeply. 

In Arthur's final days, or what was supposed to be his final days, John knew that he became more of Hosea's son than the oldest man could ever wish for. Everything that Hosea taught him Arthur used, becoming a better man than whatever Dutch was teaching them or using them to be. 

Sure, Dutch had saved their lives but that didn't mean he didn't use a group of angry misfits for his own gain. John saw him do it with their gang, with Eagle Flies and his people, and again with another group when he had to hunt him down almost a decade later.

Dutch wouldn't be able to handle seeing Arthur ever again, if he didn't know he was alive now. 

They take their peace outside and sit with bottles in their hands on the porch, chatting under the stars and the moon like they used to. It almost feels right, somehow, but there's still that feeling of misplacement. As if its wrong to not have to worry about a bullet in your back at every waking moment and being able to just relax together like the family they'd grown to be.

''So where were you, really?'' Hosea asks as Arthur finishes his sip of beer. ''I know you've been playin' dead for a few years now, and I sure can't blame you for doin' so.''

''Well, it wasn't much my choice.'' Arthur explains as he lowers his bottle. He sits on the steps of the porch, elbows resting on his knees as John leans beside him on the porch banister with Hosea resting on the lounge chairs Abigail just  _had_  to have. ''The bureau put me into witness protection for a while s'all.''

John scratches the back of his neck and feels the chain of Arthur's locket resting against his skin, a flare of a reminder shooting through his mind before he lowers his bottle against the surface of the banister and carefully unclips the locket from around his throat. 

He leans forward and puts it in its rightful place, watching the silver glint against Arthur's chest as he looks down towards it and gently raises his hand towards the engraving with a curious hand. He lifts it with the pad of his thumb, opening the inside to find that John had added another photo beside the one of his mother, one of the first pictures of both the younger men together.

They're smiling at the camera, a candid photograph taken by Miss Grimshaw during the early 00's in the summer where they stripped off their leather jackets and fought each other with water bottles and the hose. Both of them were drenched, John's hand pushing his back hair away from his face while Arthur's arm had been slung around his shoulders, Arthur's laughter captured in a photograph as he smiles at John with his hair a spiked mess and drips running down his face against his neck.

Both of their white shirts had stuck to their skin, sun reflecting brightly on the glass of one of the older motorcycle's windshields to give them all that more brightness.

It's a moment of uninterrupted joy captured beautifully in a small photograph.

Arthur lets out a content grunt, smiling at the picture before his thumb gently runs over both inside, lingering at the edge until he closes it shut.

''Thank you, John.'' he says softly, raising his eyes back to the younger man.

John shrugs, leaning back against the banister.

''I should be the one thankin' you.'' he answers and Arthur shakes his head. ''You walked to what you thought was your death to sacrifice yourself for my family.''

''Well... I guess I supposed I was sacrificin' myself for my family too.''

''We've always been family.'' Hosea speaks firmly. ''That will never change. Not between the three of us, at least. We've been through too much now, and to have you back, Arthur...''

''I know.'' Arthur leans over in his place and pats the top of Hosea's hand. ''I tried to get to you as quick as I could-''

''How did you survive?'' John asks. ''I know you killed Micah, _the scum_ , but you were  _dyin'_ , Arthur.''

**_Some years before..._ **

A constant beeping beside him causes his headache to worsen, throbbing harder with each strum. It causes him to furrow his eyebrows, groaning gently and prying his eyes open. It's bright, terribly bright, but instead of the sky coming into focus like he expected, a white ceiling comes into view instead.

Arthur stares upwards, confused until he rolls his head slowly towards his surroundings. His head is on a pillow, his body resting on a skinny mattress raised off the ground. There's an open curtain beside him past different machines where the lines on the screens bounce and drop. He rolls his head to the other side, finding a window allowing the light in with a table in front of it.

A bottle sits on the surface, Arthur's mouth drying suddenly. He tries wetting his lips with his tongue as he raises his hand, wrist suddenly stopping as something grips him. His eyes follow his arm down to the silver bracelet surrounding his wrist.

Both of his wrists are handcuffed to the rails on the sides of the hospital bed, Arthur raising his hands and giving a short struggle before he drops his arms and looks instead to the tube trailing out of his chest, draining him. His eyes drag across his bare torso towards the bruises, scrapes, and cuts decorating his skin. Each breath is sore, but differently than he'd been struggling from before.

''You had a nasty tumor in your chest, Mr. Morgan.''

He recognizes agent Ross's voice and lifts his eyes as the man comes into view, Arthur feigning a small smile.

''Heh, well...  _had?_ ''

Ross stops at the side of his bed, hand wrapping around the rail.

''We couldn't afford to let you die. Especially since you killed Micah Bell.''

''You two were pretty buddied up, weren't ya?''

''Near the end, yes. But we knew he was going to try and disappear, even if he tried handing Van der Linde over.''

Arthur hums, the noise coming out as a hoarse grumble.

''So-'' he watches the detective break open the seal on the water bottle and pour it into the cup set beside it. ''-now one bit of filth is dead, you gotta find another to talk for ya?''

The detective sets the bottle aside and turns his eyes to the man in the bed.

''All we want is Van der Linde.'' he informs him. ''That's what we've wanted since the beginning, unless you know of others that are still alive. Do you mind if I sit?''

Arthur shuts his eyes, rolling his head to the side as the detective pulls the chair up and sits down.

''Nah...'' he grumbles, turning his eyes to Ross resting in his chair. ''Nah, I don't care... there ain't no one left to tell you 'bout. _You shot 'em all_.''

''From what I know, you've killed many of us and even took it upon yourself to kill agent Milton.''

''I wasn't the one puttin' the bullet in 'is head.''

''Then who was?''

''I told you...'' Arthur slides further over in his bed, facing Ross. ''You killed 'em all.'' he grumbles back into his place. ''There ain't anyone left 'cept for Dutch... and Hosea, I know you got 'im.''

''Who told you?''

''A dead friend spotted some of your boys draggin' 'im along.''

''He hasn't been entirely useful. He seems to have dedicated his entire life to following Van der Linde, giving everything.''

'' _We all did_.'' he growls, blue eyes flicking back to Ross angrily. ''Each and every one of us.''

Ross tilts his head some to the side.

''You don't sound very pleased about it, Mr. Morgan.''

''I ain't.''

''Would you be willing to help us find Van der Linde?''

''Last I saw 'im, he was runnin' from himself on that canyon. You gotta go track 'im down from there.''

''You could help us greatly. Just give us information, Mr.Morgan, and I'll give you more than working lungs.''

Arthur glares at him before scoffing and turning his eyes to the ceiling instead. He curls his fingers into his palms, staring at the corner of the room. Part of him argues that he needs to stay loyal, let Dutch keep running, that internal, ground in thought hitting him in the side of the head. 

That wasn't Dutch running from the federal government, it was some ghost of himself.

He had gotten everyone to safety, those he could spare for Molly and Miss Grimshaw.

Susan.

''What happened to Grimshaw?'' he grounds out. ''She die?''

''No, Mr. Morgan. She was given a blood transfusion and is currently being held in jail. She won't talk either.'' Arthur runs his tongue across the back of his teeth. ''Molly O'Shea was about half dead when we found her in the desert, too. It seems Grimshaw and Van der Linde dumped her there. We tried sweating her out again but we couldn't get her on any crimes.''

''She never committed any.'' Except for loving Dutch, which Arthur was also guilty for.

''Will you talk, Mr. Morgan? I'm sure you can convince Grimshaw to talk as well if I give her the same promise.''

''And what's that?''

''A new life. A better start away from all of this chaos.''

Arthur snorts weakly, chest stinging.

''That's the same thing Dutch had been sayin' towards the end.'' he informs him. ''It don't have that much meanin' to me now...''

''Dutch is a delusional old man with a messiah complex, I'm a man who can fulfill a promise.'' Arthur shakes his head, swallowing the dryness from his mouth. Ross leans forward in his chair and lays his hands over the rail of the bed, forcing the other man's eyes to look at him as he lowers his voice to speak. ''I know that those people in your gang are still alive, each of them. I know where they are and what they're doing and my bosses want them imprisoned for years for the crimes they committed, but they can't find them. Now, I won't say anything to them. I'll keep my knowledge of them a secret and cover it up if you tell me what you can about Van der Linde and help the federal bureau.''

His blue eyes stare until Ross speaks again.

'' _I promise_.''

Arthur swallows thickly and looks away, staring at the door with a security guard beside it in the hall before he nods, running his dry tongue over his chapped lips.

''Alright...'' he grounds out.

Ross sits back, the cup of water coming into Arthur's view. He glances to the man and stares at him as Ross tips the cup for him to drink, finishing the entirety and huffing harshly once the detective pulls it away.

He runs his tongue over his dry lips and feel his body's tension loosening slowly.

''I trust you won't try anything stupid and run away, will you?'' Ross asks as he sets the cup aside.

Arthur chuckles, lifting his hands and jangling the handcuffs still locked tightly around his wrists. 

''I ain't goin' anywhere anytime soon.''

_**Present day...** _

''I never did really give 'im much...''

John stares at Arthur as he finishes his explanation, sipping his beer and pressing the end of the bottle against his bottom lip. He continues to nervously watch Hosea at his side who has fazed into his thoughts, staring into space with a set jaw and lips pressed together harshly. He's busy staring before breathing in to speak.

''I spent twenty years following Dutch and I knew he was off his rocker even then.'' He says, still staring ahead. ''Then the bureau brought me here after everything was over and Dutch was going to be tried for a countless number of killings across several states and I was expected to get back to ordinary life. Dutch defied everything he built and destroyed it when he turned his back on you boys, and that I can never forgive him for but...''

They watch him as something in Hosea's face breaks and he pulls his eyes from the dark horizon of the ranch, glancing between the two younger men.

''He's still my oldest friend.'' his voice grows quieter. ''You could say he charmed me into staying, but I had a mind of my own, I knew what I was doing the whole time with him. I knew it... especially as we began picking up angry teenagers and used them-''

''No.'' Arthur interrupts. ''In the beginning, you both gave us importance we needed, that we never had. In the end, Dutch was usin' us, it wasn't you.''

''I could've stopped him before it became-''

''You couldn't.'' John says. Both of the other's eyes turn to him. ''Dutch had us all wrapped around his finger... we just all ended up playin' into it.''

Hosea lets out a shaky breath and grips the bottle in his hand as she stares ahead again, wiping the corners of his eyes quickly. Arthur rubs his arm and Hosea gives a gentle smile, patting the younger man's hand before he sets his bottle to the side.

''I am exhausted.'' he says, standing from his chair with Arthur following. He wraps his arms around Arthur's middle and holds him, John watching his eyes screw shut as Arthur melts into it and accepts the embrace in silence. ''Goodnight, boys. I'm glad you're back, Arthur. I'm just over there if you need somewhere to stay.''

Arthur nods, the younger men wishing him a well night to watch him wander towards his own cabin on the ranch. John turns and leans over the banister, resting on his palm as he lifts his beer bottle to his mouth. Arthur grabs his own and joins him, leaning against the banister on his forearms as Hosea's figure gets smaller before he opens the door and disappears inside.

''He gonna be okay?" John asks.

''Sure. It might just be too much with this all happenin'.''

''Don't blame yourself, Arthur. I watched you do that for years and I'm tired of it now.'' Arthur chuckles beside him, looking ahead to the dark horizon. ''Jack tells me sometimes about what he can remember about the gang... lots of Pearson yelling, apparently.''

The older man laughs louder.

''Probably at Sean for stealin' his food!''

John chuckles, leaning his hip against the porch banister as he lifts the bottle to his mouth again.

''You know Pearson started his own store?''

''Really?''

''Yeah, Milwaukee, I think. He's doin' well up there.''

''I saw that Mary-Beth published her stories. Kieran's with her.''

''Did you read 'em up in Alaska?''

Arthur nods, swallowing his sip of beer.

''I ain't one for romance novels, but she's makin' good cash far as I can tell.''

''She sent us her newest one early. Some gritty crime novel, real different compared to what she usually writes. It's dedicated to you.''

''Is it now?''

''It's got your first name, I suppose she's tryin' to dedicate it to you without incriminatin' herself.''

''Ah, she won't have to worry 'bout that, not now that the feds have Dutch.''

''Yeah...''

They share a moment of silence before Arthur speaks.

''Does Hosea know?''

'' 'bout what?''

''Don't play dumb with me, Marston. It's an old game.''

''About me bein' the one that hunted Dutch?'' Arthur nods and John sighs. ''No, he doesn't. He only knows that Dutch is indefinitely locked in some insane asylum. At least, I don't think he does. The FBI dropped him on us after they got Dutch and I told 'im we'd been buildin' the ranch for the last couple years. He's smart, I know he probably sees through it.''

''He might not know at all. Or he thinks it best he don't bring it up at all, for his own sake.'' John presses his back against the wooden column holding up the roof. ''I know you were the one they sent all the way to Mexico for Bill and Javier.''

''They would have let us get killed, Arthur-''

''I know.'' he interrupts. ''I know. It was them or riskin' your family's safety. I ain't judgin' you, John. I haven't judged you since that day.''

They share the silence for several more minutes before John speaks.

''D'you know how Hosea avoided jail time?''

''They said he was 'unfit for prison' or somethin', right?''

''Yeah. Said he was too weak for a trial and almost insane too, decided to give 'im an evaluation before dumpin' him on us. Never seen 'im look so awkward in my life.''

''He thought he was invadin' your privacy or somethin'.''

John nods.

''But I was just glad you were right about him bein' alive.''

''Me too... it's too bad I couldn't convince Dutch.''

''You know I uh-'' John shifts beside Arthur, the older man turning his eyes to him. ''I went with Hosea after Dutch's trial...''

Arthur stares, nodding slowly.

''And... what was that like?''

''Gruelin'.'' John snorts forcefully. ''Dutch was already deemed 'mentally unstable' and they dragged him off to some asylum for tests and evaluations. Hosea he... he couldn't stand to watch Dutch like that.''

''They saw each other again? Both of 'em?''

The younger man nods again.

''Dutch... he was shakin', Arthur, it was bad.'' he leans back over the porch banister, setting his empty bottle on the wooden floor. ''I think that moment he saw Hosea, he felt the regret and the pain for everythin' he caused, everythin' he did. But I ain't ever seen him look so relieved.''

''How long it last?''

''Until they had to drag Dutch away from him. Hosea tries to visit regularly unless Dutch is bein' punished for bad behavior.''

''They ever gonna release 'im?''

''No. There ain't a chance in hell that he's gettin out unless its in a body bag.'' Arthur leans with him, staring towards the barn on the ranch. ''When I was tryin' to talk him off that rooftop, he made one of his speeches again about fightin' nature, or whatever it was. I didn't think he was gonna try to jump to his death.''

''That was the end of the line for 'im.'' the older man sighs. ''He thought he was gonna get out of it.''

''You should have seen how he acted when he realized he was still alive... actually, its better that you didn't.''

''Hell on Earth?''

''That would be an understatement. Those officers should have just been happy he knocked a few of their teeth out and not still had his gun on 'im.''

''He wouldn't have shot them...'' Arthur shakes his head. ''He would'a used a bullet for himself.''

Arthur finishes his bottle off and exhales, setting the bottle aside on the banister as he stares out across the dark ranch. John appreciates the silence beside him, swallowing any tears that still wanted to come up after his tearful reunion.

''Why didn't you ever say nothin' 'bout your condition?'' John asks quietly. 

''There wasn't any time to worry anybody with it.'' he responds truthfully. ''I only told Charles. Sadie was guessin' what was happenin' to me by the time that we had to go 'n get Abigail.... what happened to those two?''

''Sadie helped me some with gettin' Dutch, so did Charles. He helped build this, actually.'' John gestures to the ranch and the land before resting his arm back against the banister. ''I owe them both a whole lot.''

Arthur hums. ''Me too, John. Where they go after all that?''

''Charles went off to Canada, I think, tryin' to start a life there. Sadie went to spit on Micah's grave and head on down to South America. But, I can't be sure, not with her.''

The older man snorts.

''Micah ain't got no grave, I made sure of that.''

''How he die?''

''With a bang.'' Arthur grounds out, swallowing thickly. ''I should'a said somethin' earlier to Dutch, made 'im realize... but,  _God_ , I've spent so long rethinkin' that year over that I'm damn sick and tired of it, John. The gang fell because of Micah, he slithered his way in and destroyed it himself, and I won't take the blame anymore.''

John rests his hand on the other man's bicep and squeezes, nodding. 

''You always got a place here, Arthur. This whole place owes everythin' to you, like it do me.''

''Nah, this ain't mine-''

''It wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. Neither would I. Neither would my family, and neither would Hosea. The whole damn gang wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you. You saved everybody, damn the name of the gang to hell. You saved people that deserved it and gave justice to those that needed it more. Rest. Relax. This is yours. I won't mind helpin' you build a place here like Hosea's-''

''I can't do that.'' Arthur straightens his back and presses his palms against the wooden banister as John brings his hand back. ''I'll find someplace close, make somethin' for myself instead.''

''Like what?''

He shrugs. ''I dunno. Maybe a farm of my own.''

''There ain't nothin' more than rocks to farm out here, Arthur.''

Arthur chuckles, the smile reaching his eyes that John had missed from his brother dearly. 

''But I could use your help with buildin' it.''

''You always got my help.'' he promises. ''Always.''

John looks up at him under the porch light that has attracted a visitor, a small moth buzzing around it. Arthur glances to it, studies it, and then looks back at Hosea's small cabin where the lights have suddenly turned off. 

''I missed you.'' he tells him suddenly, Arthur's eyes turning to him and glinting under the shadow cast by his brow.

''I missed you too, brother.''


End file.
